THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 B O 1. P U 
 EDITION
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NE\V YORK HOSTON CHICAGO DALLAS 
 ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 MACMILLAN' & CO., LIMITED 
 
 LONDON r.OMBAV CAI.CfTTA 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN Co. OF CANADA, LTD 
 
 TORONTO
 
 x7 
 
 V '//
 
 HUNGRY 
 
 BV 
 RABINDRANATH TAGORE 
 
 T~ 
 
 Vontc 
 THE MACMILLAN COM^A7<lV 
 
 1916 
 AJL1- RIGHTS RESERVED
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1916 
 BY THE MACMILLAX COMPANY 
 
 Set up and electrotype;!. Published, October, 1910. 
 Bolpur Edition, October, 1910.
 
 La 
 
 College 
 
 abrarj 
 
 PR 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 THE stories contained in this volume were trans- 
 lated by several hands. The version of The Vic- 
 tory is the author's own work. The seven stories 
 which follow it were translated by Mr. C. F. An- 
 drews, with the author's help. Assistance has also 
 been given by the Rev. E. J. Thompson, Panna Lai 
 Basu, PrabKat Kumar Mukerji, and the Sister 
 Nivedita. 
 
 1325301
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 3 
 
 THE VICTORY 29 
 
 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 43 
 
 THE HOME-COMING 59 
 
 MY LORD, THE BABY 73 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 91 
 
 THE DEVOTEE in 
 
 VISION 135 
 
 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 173 
 
 LIVING OR DEAD? 193 
 
 "WE CROWN THEE KING" 215 
 
 THE RENUNCIATION 241 
 
 THE CABULIWALLAH 257
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 MY kinsman and myself were returning to Calcutta 
 from our Puja trip when we met the man in a train. 
 From his dress and bearing we took him at first for 
 an up-country Mahomedan, but we were puzzled as 
 we heard him talk. He discoursed upon all sub- 
 jects so confidently that you might think the Dis- 
 poser of All Things consulted him at all times in all 
 that He did. Hitherto we had been perfectly 
 happy, as we did not know that secret and unheard- 
 of forces were at work, that the Russians had ad- 
 vanced close to us, that the English had deep and 
 secret policies, that confusion among the native 
 chiefs had come to a head. But our newly-acquired 
 friend said with a sly smile: ' There happen more 
 things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are re- 
 ported in your newspapers." As we had never 
 stirred out of our homes before, the demeanour of 
 the man struck us dumb with wonder. Be the topic 
 ever so trivial, he would quote science, or comment 
 
 3
 
 4 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 on the Fedas, or repeat quatrains from some Per- 
 sian poet; and as we had no pretence to a knowledge 
 of science or the Fedas or Persian, our admiration 
 for him went on increasing, and my kinsman, a 
 theosophist, was firmly convinced that our fellow- 
 passenger must have been supernaturally inspired by 
 some strange " magnetism " or " occult power," by 
 an " astral body " or something of that kind. He 
 listened to the tritest saying that fell from the lips 
 of our extraordinary companion with devotional 
 rapture, and secretly took down notes of his con- 
 versation. I fancy that the extraordinary man saw 
 this, and was a little pleased with it. 
 
 When the train reached the junction, we assem- 
 bled in the waiting-room for the connection. It 
 was then 10 P. M., and as the train, we heard, was 
 likely to be very late, owing to something wrong in 
 the lines, I spread my bed on the table and was about 
 to lie down for a comfortable doze, when the ex- 
 traordinary person deliberately set about spinning 
 the following yarn. Of course, I could get no sleep 
 that night. 
 
 When, owing to a disagreement about some ques- 
 tions of administrative policy, I threw up my post
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 5 
 
 at Junagarh, and entered the service of the Nizam 
 of Hyderabad, they appointed me at once, as a 
 strong young man, collector of cotton duties at 
 Barich. 
 
 Barich is a lovely place. The Susta " chatters 
 over stony ways and babbles on the pebbles," trip- 
 ping, like a skilful dancing girl, in through the woods 
 below the lonely hills. A flight of 150 steps rises 
 from the river, and above that flight, on the river's 
 brim and at the foot of the hills, there stands a soli- 
 tary marble palace. Around it there is no habita- 
 tion of man the village and the cotton mart of 
 Barich being far off. 
 
 About 250 years ago the Emperor Mahmud 
 Shah II. had built this lonely palace for his pleasure 
 and luxury. In his days jets of rose-water spurted 
 from its fountains, and on the cold marble floors 
 of its spray-cooled rooms young Persian damsels 
 would sit, their hair dishevelled before bathing, 
 and, splashing their soft naked feet in the clear wa- 
 ter of the reservoirs, would sing, to the tune of the 
 guitar, the ghazals of their vineyards. 
 
 The fountains play no longer; the songs have 
 ceased; no longer do snow-white feet step grace- 
 fully on the snowy marble. It is but the vast and
 
 6 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 solitary quarters of cess-collectors like us, men op- 
 pressed with solitude and deprived of the society 
 of women. Now, Karim Khan, the old clerk of my 
 office, warned me repeatedly not to take up my 
 abode there. " Pass the day there, if you like," 
 said he, " but never stay the night." I passed it off 
 with a light laugh. The servants said that they 
 would work till dark, and go away at night. I gave 
 my ready assent. The house had such a bad name 
 that even thieves would not venture near it after 
 dark. 
 
 At first the solitude of the deserted palace weighed 
 upon me like a nightmare. I would stay out, and 
 work hard as long as possible, then return home at 
 night jaded and tired, go to bed and fall asleep. 
 
 Before a week had passed, the place began to exert 
 a weird fascination upon me. It is difficult to 
 describe or to induce people to believe; but I felt 
 as if the whole house was like a living organism 
 slowly and imperceptibly digesting me by the action 
 of some stupefying gastric juice. 
 
 Perhaps the process had begun as soon as I set 
 my foot in the house, but I distinctly remember the 
 day on which I first was conscious of it. 
 
 It was the beginning of summer, and the market
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 7 
 
 being dull I had no work to do. A little before 
 sunset I was sitting in an arm-chair near the water's 
 edge below the steps. The Susta had shrunk and 
 sunk low; a broad patch of sand on the other side 
 glowed with the hues of evening; on this side the 
 pebbles at the bottom of the clear shallow waters 
 were glistening. There was not a breath of wind 
 anywhere, and the still air was laden with an op- 
 pressive scent from the spicy shrubs growing on the 
 hills close by. 
 
 As the sun sank behind the hill-tops a long dark 
 curtain fell upon the stage of day, and the inter- 
 vening hills cut short the time in which light and 
 shade mingle at sunset. I thought of going out for 
 a ride, and was about to get up when I heard a foot- 
 fall on the steps behind. I looked back, but there 
 was no one. 
 
 As I sat down again, thinking it to be an illusion, I 
 heard many footfalls, as if a large number of persons 
 were rushing down the steps. A strange thrill of 
 delight, slightly tinged with fear, passed through 
 my frame, and though there was not a figure before 
 my eyes, methought I saw a bevy of joyous maidens 
 coming down the steps to bathe in the Susta in 
 that summer evening. Not a sound was in the
 
 8 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 valley, in the river, or in the palace, to break the 
 silence, but I distinctly heard the maidens' gay and 
 mirthful laugh, like the gurgle of a spring gushing 
 forth in a hundred cascades, as they ran past me, 
 in quick playful pursuit of each other, towards the 
 river, without noticing me at all. As they were in- 
 visible to me, so I was, as it were, invisible to them. 
 The river was perfectly calm, but I felt that its still, 
 shallow, and clear waters were stirred suddenly by 
 the splash of many an arm jingling with bracelets, 
 that the girls laughed and dashed and spattered 
 water at one another, that the feet of the fair swim- 
 mers tossed the tiny waves up in showers of pearl. 
 I felt a thrill at my heart I cannot say whether 
 the excitement was due to fear or delight or curios- 
 ity. I had a strong desire to see them more clearly, 
 but naught was visible before me; I thought I could 
 catch all that they said if I only strained my ears; 
 but however hard I strained them, I heard nothing 
 but the chirping of the cicadas in the woods. It 
 seemed as if a dark curtain of 250 years was hang- 
 ing before me, and I would fain lift a corner of it 
 tremblingly and peer through, though the assembly 
 on the other side was completely enveloped in dark- 
 ness.
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 9 
 
 The oppressive closeness of the evening was 
 broken by a sudden gust of wind, and the still sur- 
 face of the Susta rippled and curled like the hair 
 of a nymph, and from the woods wrapt in the eve- 
 ning gloom there came forth a simultaneous mur- 
 mur, as though they were awakening from a black 
 dream. Call it reality or dream, the momentary 
 glimpse of that invisible mirage reflected from a 
 far-off world, 250 years old, vanished in a flash. 
 The mystic forms that brushed past me with their 
 quick unbodied steps, and loud, voiceless laughter, 
 and threw themselves into the river, did not go 
 back wringing their dripping robes as they went. 
 Like fragrance wafted away by the wind they were 
 dispersed by a single breath of the spring. 
 
 Then I was filled with a lively fear that it was 
 the Muse that had taken advantage of my solitude 
 and possessed me the witch had evidently come 
 to ruin a poor devil like myself making a living by 
 collecting cotton duties. I decided to have a good 
 dinner it is the empty stomach that all sorts of 
 incurable diseases find an easy prey. I sent for my 
 cook and gave orders for a rich, sumptuous moghlai 
 dinner, redolent of spices and ghi. 
 
 Next morning the whole affair appeared a queer
 
 io THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 fantasy. With a light heart I put on a sola hat like 
 the sahebs, and drove out to my work. I was to 
 have written my quarterly report that day, and ex- 
 pected to return late; but before it was dark I was 
 strangely drawn to my house by what I could not 
 say I felt they were all waiting, and that I should 
 delay no longer. Leaving my report unfinished I 
 rose, put on my sola hat, and startling the dark, 
 shady, desolate path with the rattle of my carriage, 
 I reached the vast silent palace standing on the 
 gloomy skirts of the hills. 
 
 On the first floor the stairs led to a very spacious 
 hall, its roof stretching wide over ornamental arches 
 resting on three rows of massive pillars, and groan- 
 ing day and night under the weight of its own intense 
 solitude. The day had just closed, and the lamps 
 had not yet been lighted. As I pushed the door 
 open a great bustle seemed to follow within, as if 
 a throng of people had broken up in confusion, and 
 rushed out through the doors and windows and cor- 
 ridors and verandas and rooms, to make its hurried 
 escape. 
 
 As I saw no one I stood bewildered, my hair 
 on end in a kind of ecstatic delight, and a faint 
 scent of attar and unguents almost effaced by age
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES n 
 
 lingered in my nostrils. Standing in the darkness 
 of that vast desolate hall between the rows of those 
 ancient pillars, I could hear the gurgle of fountains 
 plashing on the marble floor, a strange tune on 
 the guitar, the jingle of ornaments and the tinkle 
 of anklets, the clang of bells tolling the hours, the 
 distant note of nahcbat, the din of the crystal pen- 
 dants of chandeliers shaken by the breeze, the song 
 of bulbuls from the cages in the corridors, the cackle 
 of storks in the gardens, all creating round me a 
 strange unearthly music. 
 
 Then I came under such a spell that this intangible, 
 inaccessible, unearthly vision appeared to be the only 
 reality in the world and all else a mere dream. 
 That I, that is to say, Srijut So-and-so, the eldest 
 son of So-and-so of blessed memory, should be draw- 
 ing a monthly salary of Rs. 450 by the discharge of 
 my duties as collector of cotton duties, and driving 
 in my dog-cart to my office every day in a short coat 
 and sola hat, appeared to me to be such an astonish- 
 ingly ludicrous illusion that I burst into a horse-laugh, 
 as I stood in the gloom of that vast silent hall. 
 
 At that moment my servant entered with a lighted 
 kerosene lamp in his hand. I do not know whether 
 he thought me mad, but it came back to me at once
 
 12 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 that I was in very deed Srijut So-and-so, son of So- 
 and-so of blessed memory, and that, while our poets, 
 great and small, alone could say whether inside or 
 outside the earth there was a region where unseen 
 fountains perpetually played and fairy guitars, struck 
 by invisible fingers, sent forth an eternal harmony, 
 this at any rate was certain, that I collected duties 
 at the cotton market at Barich, and earned thereby 
 Rs. 450 per mensem as my salary. I laughed in 
 great glee at my curious illusion, as I sat over the 
 newspaper at my camp-table, lighted by the kero- 
 sene lamp. 
 
 After I had finished my paper and eaten my 
 moghlai dinner, I put out the lamp, and lay down 
 on my bed in a small side-room. Through the open 
 window a radiant star, high above the Avalli hills 
 skirted by the darkness of their woods, was gazing 
 intently from millions and millions of miles away in 
 the sky at Mr. Collector lying on a humble camp- 
 bedstead. I wondered and felt amused at the idea, 
 and do not know when I fell asleep or how long 
 I slept; but I suddenly awoke with a start, though I 
 heard no sound and saw no intruder only the 
 steady bright star on the hilltop had set, and the 
 dim light of the new moon was stealthily entering
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 13 
 
 the room through the open window, as if ashamed 
 of its intrusion. 
 
 I saw nobody, but felt as if some one was gently 
 pushing me. As I awoke she said not a word, but 
 beckoned me with her five fingers bedecked with 
 rings to follow her cautiously. I got up noiselessly, 
 and, though not a soul save myself was there in the 
 countless apartments of that deserted palace with 
 its slumbering sounds and waking echoes, I feared 
 at every step lest any one should wake up. Most 
 of the rooms of the palace were always kept closed, 
 and I had never entered them. 
 
 I followed breathless and with silent steps my in- 
 visible guide I cannot now say where. What 
 endless dark and narrow passages, what long cor- 
 ridors, what silent and solemn audience-chambers 
 and close secret cells I crossed! 
 
 Though I could not see my fair guide, her form 
 was not invisible to my mind's eye, an Arab girl, 
 her arms, hard and smooth as marble, visible through 
 her loose sleeves, a thin veil falling on her face from 
 the fringe of her cap, and a curved dagger at her 
 waist! Methought that one of the thousand and 
 one Arabian Nights had been wafted to me from 
 the world of romance, and that at the dead of night
 
 i 4 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 I was wending my way through the dark narrow 
 alleys of slumbering Bagdad to a trysting-place 
 fraught with peril. 
 
 At last my fair guide stopped abruptly before a 
 deep blue screen, and seemed to point to something 
 below. There was nothing there, but a sudden 
 dread froze the blood in my heart methought I 
 saw there on the floor at the foot of the screen a 
 terrible negro eunuch dressed in rich brocade, sitting 
 and dozing with outstretched legs, with a naked 
 sword on his lap. My fair guide lightly tripped 
 over his legs and held up a fringe of the screen. I 
 could catch a glimpse of a part of the room spread 
 with a Persian carpet some one was sitting inside 
 on a bed I could not see her, but only caught a 
 glimpse of two exquisite feet in gold-embroidered 
 slippers, hanging out from loose saffron-coloured 
 paijamas and placed idly on the orange-coloured 
 velvet carpet. On one side there was a bluish 
 crystal tray on which a few apples, pears, oranges, 
 and bunches of grapes in plenty, two small cups and 
 a gold-tinted decanter were evidently awaiting the 
 guest. A fragrant intoxicating vapour, issuing 
 from a strange sort of incense that burned within, 
 almost overpowered my senses.
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 15 
 
 As with trembling heart I made an attempt to 
 step across the outstretched legs of the eunuch, he 
 woke up suddenly with a start, and the sword fell 
 from his lap with a sharp clang on the marble floor. 
 
 A terrific scream made me jump, and I saw I was 
 sitting on that camp-bedstead of mine sweating 
 heavily; and the crescent moon looked pale in the 
 morning light like a weary sleepless patient at dawn; 
 and our crazy Meher Ali was crying out, as is his 
 daily custom, "Stand back! Stand back!!" while 
 he went along the lonely road. 
 
 Such was the abrupt close of one of my Arabian 
 Nights; but there were yet a thousand nights left. 
 
 Then followed a great discord between my days 
 and nights. During the day I would go to my work 
 worn and tired, cursing the bewitching night and her 
 empty dreams, but as night came my daily life with 
 its bonds and shackles of work would appear a petty, 
 false, ludicrous vanity. 
 
 After nightfall I was caught and overwhelmed in 
 the snare of a strange intoxication. I would then 
 be transformed into some unknown personage of 
 a bygone age, playing my part in unwritten history; 
 and my short English coat and tight breeches did 
 not suit me in the least. With a red velvet cap on
 
 1 6 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 my head, loose pai jamas, an embroidered vest, a 
 long flowing silk gown, and coloured handkerchiefs 
 scented with attar, I would complete my elaborate 
 toilet, sit on a high-cushioned chair, and replace my 
 cigarette with a many-coiled narghileh filled with 
 rose-water, as if in eager expectation of a strange 
 meeting with the beloved one. 
 
 I have no power to describe the marvellous in- 
 cidents that unfolded themselves, as the gloom of 
 the night deepened. I felt as if in the curious apart- 
 ments of that vast edifice the fragments of a beau- 
 tiful story, which I could follow for some distance, 
 but of which I could never see the end, flew about 
 in a sudden gust of the vernal breeze. And all the 
 same I would wander from room to room in pursuit 
 of them the whole night long. 
 
 Amid the eddy of these dream-fragments, amid 
 the smell of henna and the twanging of the guitar, 
 amid the waves of air charged with fragrant spray, 
 I would catch like a flash of lightning the momentary 
 glimpse of a fair damsel. She it was who had saf- 
 fron-coloured paijamas, white ruddy soft feet in gold- 
 embroidered slippers with curved toes, a close-fitting 
 bodice wrought with gold, a red cap, from which 
 a golden frill fell on her snowy brow and cheeks.
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 17 
 
 She had maddened me. In pursuit of her I wan- 
 dered from room to room, from path to path among 
 the bewildering maze of alleys in the enchanted 
 dreamland of the nether world of sleep. 
 
 Sometimes in the evening, while arraying myself 
 carefully as a prince of the blood-royal before a 
 large mirror, with a candle burning on either side, 
 I would see a sudden reflection of the Persian beauty 
 by the side of my own. A swift turn of her neck, 
 a quick eager glance of intense passion and pain 
 glowing in her large dark eyes, just a suspicion of 
 speech on her dainty red lips, her figure, fair and 
 slim, crowned with youth like a blossoming creeper, 
 quickly uplifted in her graceful tilting gait, a daz- 
 zling flash of pain and craving and esctasy, a smile 
 and a glance and a blaze of jewels and silk, and she 
 melted away. A wild gust of wind, laden with all 
 the fragrance of hills and woods, would put out my 
 light, and I would fling aside my dress and lie down 
 on my bed, my eyes closed and my body thrilling with 
 delight, and there around me in the breeze, amid all 
 the perfume of the woods and hills, floated through 
 the silent gloom many a caress and many a kiss and 
 many a tender touch of hands, and gentle murmurs 
 in my ears, and fragrant breaths on my brow; or a
 
 1 8 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 sweetly-perfumed kerchief was wafted again and 
 again on my cheeks. Then slowly a mysterious ser- 
 pent would twist her stupefying coils about me; and 
 heaving a heavy sigh, I would lapse into insensibility, 
 and then into a profound slumber. 
 
 One evening I decided to go out on my horse 
 I do not know who implored me to stay but 
 I would listen to no entreaties that day. My Eng- 
 lish hat and coat were resting on a rack, and I was 
 about to take them down when a sudden whirlwind, 
 crested with the sands of the Susta and the dead 
 leaves of the Avalli hills, caught them up, and 
 whirled them round and round, while a loud peal of 
 merry laughter rose higher and higher, striking all 
 the chords of mirth till it died away in the land of 
 sunset. 
 
 I could not go out for my ride, and the next day 
 I gave up my queer English coat and hat for good. 
 
 That day again at dead of night I heard the stifled 
 heart-breaking sobs of some one as if below the 
 bed, below the floor, below the stony foundation of 
 that gigantic palace, from the depths of a dark damp 
 grave, a voice piteously cried and implored me : 
 " Oh, rescue me ! Break through these doors of 
 hard illusion, deathlike slumber and fruitless dreams,
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 19 
 
 place me by your side on the saddle, press me to your 
 heart, and, riding through hills and woods and across 
 the river, take me to the warm radiance of your 
 sunny rooms above ! " 
 
 Who am I? Oh, how can I rescue thee? What 
 drowning beauty, what incarnate passion shall I drag 
 to the shore from this wild eddy of dreams? O 
 lovely ethereal apparition! Where didst thou flour- 
 ish and when? By what cool spring, under the shade 
 of what date-groves, wast thou born in the lap 
 of what homeless wanderer in the desert? What 
 Bedouin snatched thee from thy mother's arms, an 
 opening bud plucked from a wild creeper, placed thee 
 on a horse swift as lightning, crossed the burning 
 sands, and took thee to the slave-market of what 
 royal city? And there, what officer of the Badshah, 
 seeing the glory of thy bashful blossoming youth, 
 paid for thee in gold, placed thee in a golden palan- 
 quin, and offered thee as a present for the seraglio 
 of his master? And O, the history of that place! 
 The music of the sarcng? the jingle of anklets, the 
 occasional flash of daggers and the glowing wine of 
 Shiraz poison, and the piercing flashing glance! 
 What infinite grandeur, what endless servitude! 
 
 1 A sort of violin.
 
 20 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 The slave-girls to thy right and left waved the 
 chamar, 1 as diamonds flashed from their bracelets; 
 the Badshah, the king of kings, fell on his knees at 
 thy snowy feet in bejewelled shoes, and outside the 
 terrible Abyssinian eunuch, looking like a messenger 
 of death, but clothed like an angel, stood with a 
 naked sword in his hand ! Then, O, thou flower of 
 the desert, swept away by the blood-stained dazzling 
 ocean of grandeur, with its foam of jealousy, its 
 rocks and shoals of intrigue, on what shore of cruel 
 death wast thou cast, or in what other land more 
 splendid and more cruel? 
 
 Suddenly at this moment that crazy Meher Ali 
 screamed out: "Stand back! Stand back!! All 
 is false ! All is false ! I " I opened my eyes and 
 saw that it was already light. My chaprasi came 
 and handed me my letters, and the cook waited with 
 a salam for my orders. 
 
 I said: " No, I can stay here no longer." That 
 very day I packed up, and moved to my office. Old 
 Karim Khan smiled a little as he saw me. I felt 
 nettled, but said nothing, and fell to my work. 
 
 As evening approached I grew absent-minded; I 
 felt as if I had an appointment to keep; and the 
 
 1 Chamar: chowrie, yak-tail.
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 21 
 
 work of examining the cotton accounts seemed 
 wholly useless; even the Nizamat 1 of the Nizam 
 did not appear to be of much worth. Whatever 
 belonged to the present, whatever was moving and 
 acting and working for bread seemed trivial, mean- 
 ingless, and contemptible. 
 
 I threw my pen down, closed my ledgers, got into 
 my dog-cart, and drove away. I noticed that it 
 stopped of itself at the gate of the marble palace 
 just at the hour of twilight. With quick steps I 
 climbed the stairs, and entered the room. 
 
 A heavy silence was reigning within. The dark 
 rooms were looking sullen as if they had taken of- 
 fence. My heart was full of contrition, but there 
 was no one to whom I could lay it bare, or of whom 
 I could ask forgiveness. I wandered about the dark 
 rooms with a vacant mind. I wished I had a guitar 
 to which I could sing to the unknown: " O fire, the 
 poor moth that made a vain effort to fly away has 
 come back to thee ! Forgive it but this once, burn 
 its wings and consume it in thy flame ! " 
 
 Suddenly two tear-drops fell from overhead on 
 my brow. Dark masses of clouds overcast the top 
 of the Avalli hills that day. The gloomy woods and 
 
 1 Royalty.
 
 22 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 the sooty waters of the Susta were waiting in ter- 
 rible suspense and in an ominous calm. Suddenly 
 land, water, and sky shivered, and a wild tempest- 
 blast rushed howling through the distant pathless 
 woods, showing its lightning-teeth like a raving ma- 
 niac who had broken his chains. The desolate halls 
 of the palace banged their doors, and moaned in the 
 bitterness of anguish. 
 
 The servants were all in the office, and there was 
 no one to light the lamps. The night was cloudy 
 and moonless. In the dense gloom within I could 
 distinctly feel that a woman was lying on her face 
 on the carpet below the bed clasping and tearing 
 her long dishevelled hair with desperate fingers. 
 Blood was trickling down her fair brow, and she was 
 now laughing a hard, harsh, mirthless laugh, now 
 bursting into violent wringing sobs, now rending her 
 bodice and striking at her bare bosom, as the wind 
 roared in through the open window, and the rain 
 poured in torrents and soaked her through and 
 through. 
 
 All night there was no cessation of the storm 
 or of the passionate cry. I wandered from room to 
 room in the dark, with unavailing sorrow. Whom 
 could I console when no one was by? Whose was
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 23 
 
 this intense agony of sorrow? Whence arose this 
 inconsolable grief? 
 
 And the mad man cried out: "Stand back! 
 Stand back ! ! All is false ! All is false I ! " 
 
 I saw that the day had dawned, and Meher All 
 was going round and round the palace with his usual 
 cry in that dreadful weather. Suddenly it came to 
 me that perhaps he also had once lived in that house, 
 and that, though he had gone mad, he came there 
 every day, and went round and round, fascinated 
 by the weird spell cast by the marble demon. 
 
 Despite the storm and rain I ran to him and 
 asked: " Ho, Meher Ali, what is false? " 
 
 The man answered nothing, but pushing me aside 
 went round and round with his frantic cry, like a 
 bird flying fascinated about the jaws of a snake, and 
 made a desperate effort to warn himself by repeat- 
 ing: "Stand back! Stand back!! All is false! 
 All is false ! ! " 
 
 I ran like a mad man through the pelting rain 
 to my office, and asked Karim Khan: " Tell me the 
 meaning of all this! " 
 
 What I gathered from that old man was this : 
 That at one time countless unrequited passions and 
 unsatisfied longings and lurid flames of wild blaz-
 
 24 THE HUNGRY STONES 
 
 ing pleasure raged within that palace, and that the 
 curse of all the heart-aches and blasted hopes had 
 made its every stone thirsty and hungry, eager to 
 swallow up like a famished ogress any living man 
 who might chance to approach. Not one of those 
 who lived there for three consecutive nights could 
 escape these cruel jaws, save Meher All, who had 
 escaped at the cost of his reason. 
 
 I asked: "Is there no means whatever of my 
 release?" The old man said: "There is only 
 one means, and that is very difficult. I will tell you 
 what it is, but first you must hear the history of a 
 young Persian girl who once lived in that pleasure- 
 dome. A stranger or a more bitterly heart-rending 
 tragedy was never enacted on this earth." 
 
 Just at this moment the coolies announced that the 
 train was coming. So soon? We hurriedly packed 
 up our luggage, as the train steamed in. An Eng- 
 lish gentleman, apparently just aroused from 
 slumber, was looking out of a first-class carriage 
 endeavouring to read the name of the station. As 
 soon as he caught sight of our fellow-passenger, he 
 cried, " Hallo," and took him into his own com- 
 partment. As we got into a second-class carriage,
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES 25 
 
 we had no chance of finding out who the man was nor 
 what was the end of his story. 
 
 I said: "The man evidently took us for fools 
 and imposed upon us out of fun. The story is pure 
 fabrication from start to finish." The discussion 
 that followed ended in a lifelong rupture between my 
 theosophist kinsman and myself.
 
 THE VICTORY
 
 THE VICTORY 
 
 SHE was the Princess Ajita. And the court poet 
 of King Narayan had never seen her. On the day 
 he recited a new poem to the king he would raise 
 his voice just to that pitch which could be heard by 
 unseen hearers in the screened balcony high above 
 the hall. He sent up his song towards the star-land 
 out of his reach, where, circled with light, the planet 
 who ruled his destiny shone unknown and out of 
 ken. 
 
 He would espy some shadow moving behind the 
 veil. A tinkling sound would come to his ear from 
 afar, and would set him dreaming of the ankles 
 whose tiny golden bells sang at each step. Ah, the 
 rosy red tender feet that walked the dust of the 
 earth like God's mercy on the fallen ! The poet had 
 placed them on the altar of his heart, where he wove 
 his songs to the tune of those golden bells. Doubt 
 never arose in his mind as to whose shadow it was 
 
 that moved behind the screen, and whose anklets 
 
 29
 
 30 THE VICTORY 
 
 they were that sang to the time of his beating heart. 
 
 Manjari, the maid of the princess, passed by the 
 poet's house on her way to the river, and she never 
 missed a day to have a few words with him on the 
 sly. When she found the road deserted, and the 
 shadow of dusk on the land, she would boldly enter 
 his room, and sit at the corner of his carpet. There 
 was a suspicion of an added care in the choice of the 
 colour of her veil, in the setting of the flower in her 
 hair. 
 
 People smiled and whispered at this, and they 
 were not to blame. For Shekhar the poet never 
 took the trouble to hide the fact that these meet- 
 ings were a pure joy to him. 
 
 The meaning of her name was the spray of 
 flowers. One must confess that for an ordinary 
 mortal it was sufficient in its sweetness. But Shek- 
 har made his own addition to this name, and called 
 her the Spray of Spring Flowers. And ordinary 
 mortals shook their heads and said, Ah, me ! 
 
 In the spring songs that the poet sang the praise 
 of the spray of spring flowers was conspicuously 
 reiterated; and the king winked and smiled at him 
 when he heard it, and the poet smiled in answer. 
 
 The king would put him the question: "Is it
 
 THE VICTORY 31 
 
 the business of the bee merely to hum in the court 
 of the spring? " 
 
 The poet would answer: "No, but also to sip 
 the honey of the spray of spring flowers." 
 
 And they all laughed in the king's hall. And 
 it was rumoured that the Princess Ajita also laughed 
 at her maid's accepting the poet's name for her, and 
 Manjari felt glad in her heart. 
 
 Thus truth and falsehood mingle in life and 
 to what God builds man adds his own decoration. 
 
 Only those were pure truths which were sung by 
 the poet. The theme was Krishna, the lover god, 
 and Radha, the beloved, the Eternal Man and the 
 Eternal Woman, the sorrow that comes from the 
 beginning of time, and the joy without end. The 
 truth of these songs was tested in his inmost heart 
 by everybody from the beggar to the king himself. 
 The poet's songs were on the lips of all. At the 
 merest glimmer of the moon and the faintest whis- 
 per of the summer breeze his songs would break 
 forth in the land from windows and courtyards, from 
 sailing-boats, from shadows of the wayside trees, in 
 numberless voices. 
 
 Thus passed the days happily. The poet recited, 
 the king listened, the hearers applauded, Manjari
 
 32 THE VICTORY 
 
 passed and repassed by the poet's room on her way 
 to the river the shadow flitted behind the screened 
 balcony, and the tiny golden bells tinkled from afar. 
 
 Just then set forth from his home in the south 
 a poet on his path of conquest. He came to King 
 Narayan, in the kingdom of Amarapur. He stood 
 before the throne, and uttered a verse in praise of 
 the king. He had challenged all the court poets 
 on his way, and his career of victory had been un- 
 broken. 
 
 The king received him with honour, and said: 
 " Poet, I offer you welcome." 
 
 Pundarik, the poet, proudly replied : " Sire, I 
 ask for war." 
 
 Shekhar, the court poet of the king did not know 
 how the battle of the muse was to be waged. He 
 had no sleep at night. The mighty figure of the 
 famous Pundarik, his sharp nose curved like a scim- 
 itar, and his proud head tilted on one side, haunted 
 the poet's vision in the dark. 
 
 With a trembling heart Shekhar entered the arena 
 in the morning. The theatre was filled with the 
 crowd. 
 
 The poet greeted his rival with a smile and a bow.
 
 THE VICTORY 33 
 
 Pundarik returned it with a slight toss of his head, 
 and turned his face towards his circle of adoring 
 followers with a meaning smile. 
 
 Shekhar cast his glance towards the screened bal- 
 cony high above, and saluted his lady in his mind, 
 saying: " If I am the winner at the combat to-day, 
 my lady, thy victorious name shall be glorified." 
 
 The trumpet sounded. The great crowd stood 
 up, shouting victory to the king. The king, dressed 
 in an ample robe of white, slowly came into the hall 
 like a floating cloud of autumn, and sat on his throne. 
 
 Pundarik stood up, and the vast hall became still. 
 With his head raised high and chest expanded, he 
 began in his thundering voice to recite the praise of 
 King Narayan. His words burst upon the walls of 
 the hall like breakers of the sea, and seemed to rattle 
 against the ribs of the listening crowd. The skill 
 with which he gave varied meanings to the name 
 Narayan, and wove each letter of it through the web 
 of his verses in all manner of combinations, took 
 away the breath of his amazed hearers. 
 
 For some minutes after he took his seat his voice 
 continued to vibrate among the numberless pillars 
 of the king's court and in thousands of speechless 
 hearts. The learned professors who had come from
 
 34 THE VICTORY 
 
 distant lands raised their right hands, and cried, 
 Bravo ! 
 
 The king threw a glance on Shekhar's face, and 
 Shekhar in answer raised for a moment his eyes full 
 of pain towards his master, and then stood up like 
 a stricken deer at bay. His face was pale, his bash- 
 fulness was almost that of a woman, his slight youth- 
 ful figure, delicate in its outline, seemed like a tensely 
 strung vina ready to break out in music at the least 
 touch. 
 
 His head was bent, his voice was low, when he 
 began. The first few verses were almost inaudible. 
 Then he slowly raised his head, and his clear sweet 
 voice rose into the sky like a quivering flame of 
 fire. He began with the ancient legend of the 
 kingly line lost in the haze of the past, and brought 
 it down through its long course of heroism and 
 matchless generosity to the present age. He fixed 
 his gaze on the king's face, and all the vast and 
 unexpressed love of the people for the royal house 
 rose like incense in his song, and enwreathed the 
 throne on all sides. These were his last words 
 when, trembling, he took his seat: " My master, I 
 may be beaten in play of words, but not in my love 
 for thee."
 
 THE VICTORY 35 
 
 Tears filled the eyes of the hearers, and the stone 
 walls shook with cries of victory. 
 
 Mocking this popular outburst of feeling, with an 
 august shake of his head and a contemptuous sneer, 
 Pundarik stood up, and flung this question to the 
 assembly: "What is there superior to words?" 
 In a moment the hall lapsed into silence again. 
 
 Then with a marvellous display of learning, he 
 proved that the Word was in the beginning, that 
 the Word was God. He piled up quotations from 
 scriptures, and built a high altar for the Word to 
 be seated above all that there is in heaven and in 
 earth. He repeated that question in his mighty 
 voice: " What is there superior to words? " 
 
 Proudly he looked around him. None dared to 
 accept his challenge, and he slowly took his seat like 
 a lion who had just made a full meal of its victim. 
 The pandits shouted, Bravo ! The king remained 
 silent with wonder, and the poet Shekhar felt him- 
 self of no account by the side of this stupendous 
 learning. The assembly broke up for that day. 
 
 Next day Shekhar began his song. It was of 
 that day when the pipings of love's flute startled for 
 the first time the hushed air of the Vrinda forest. 
 The shepherd women did not know who was the
 
 36 THE VICTORY 
 
 player or whence came the music. Sometimes it 
 seemed to come from the heart of the south wind, 
 and sometimes from the straying clouds of the hill- 
 tops. It came with a message of tryst from the 
 land of the sunrise, and it floated from the verge 
 of sunset with its sigh of sorrow. The stars seemed 
 to be the stops of the instrument that flooded the 
 dreams of the night with melody. The music 
 seemed to burst all at once from all sides, from 
 fields and groves, from the shady lanes and lonely 
 roads, from the melting blue of the sky, from the 
 shimmering green of the grass. They neither knew 
 its meaning nor could they find words to give utter- 
 ance to the desire of their hearts. Tears filled their 
 eyes, and their life seemed to long for a death that 
 would be its consummation. 
 
 Shekhar forgot his audience, forgot the trial of 
 his strength with a rival. He stood alone amid his 
 thoughts that rustled and quivered round him like 
 leaves in a summer breeze, and sang the Song of the 
 Flute. He had in his mind the vision of an image 
 that had taken its shape from a shadow, and the 
 echo of a faint tinkling sound of a distant footstep. 
 
 He took his seat. His hearers trembled with 
 the sadness of an indefinable delight, immense and
 
 THE VICTORY 37 
 
 vague, and they forgot to applaud him. As this 
 feeling died away Pundarik stood up before the 
 throne and challenged his rival to define who was 
 this Lover and who was the Beloved. He arro- 
 gantly looked around him, he smiled at his followers 
 and then put the question again : " Who is Krishna, 
 the lover, and who is Radha, the beloved? " 
 
 Then he began to analyse the roots of those names, 
 and various interpretations of their meanings. 
 He brought before the bewildered audience all the 
 intricacies of the different schools of metaphysics 
 with consummate skill. Each letter of those names 
 he divided from its fellow, and then pursued them 
 with a relentless logic till they fell to the dust in con- 
 fusion, to be caught up again and restored to a mean- 
 ing never before imagined by the subtlest of word- 
 mongers. 
 
 The pandits were in ecstasy; they applauded 
 vociferously; and the crowd followed them, deluded 
 into the certainty that they had witnessed, that day, 
 the last shred of the curtains of Truth torn to pieces 
 before their eyes by a prodigy of intellect. The 
 performance of his tremendous feat so delighted 
 them that they forgot to ask themselves if there was 
 any truth behind it after all.
 
 3 8 THE VICTORY 
 
 The king's mind was overwhelmed with wonder. 
 The atmosphere was completely cleared of all illu- 
 sion of music, and the vision of the world around 
 seemed to be changed from its freshness of tender 
 green to the solidity of a high road levelled and made 
 hard with crushed stones. 
 
 To the people assembled their own poet appeared 
 a mere boy in comparison with this giant, who walked 
 with such ease, knocking down difficulties at each 
 step in the world of words and thoughts. It be- 
 came evident to them for the first time that the 
 poems Shekhar wrote were absurdly simple, and it 
 must be a mere accident that they did not write them 
 themselves. They were neither new, nor difficult, 
 nor instructive, nor necessary. 
 
 The king tried to goad his poet with keen glances, 
 silently inciting him to make a final effort. But 
 Shekhar took no notice, and remained fixed to his 
 seat. 
 
 The king in anger came down from his throne 
 took off his pearl chain and put it on Pundarik's 
 head. Everybody in the hall cheered. From the 
 upper balcony came a slight sound of the movements 
 of rustling robes and waist-chains hung with golden 
 bells. Shekhar rose from his seat and left the hall.
 
 THE VICTORY 39 
 
 It was a dark night of waning moon. The poet 
 Shekhar took down his MSS. from his shelves and 
 heaped them on the floor. Some of them contained 
 his earliest writings, which he had almost forgotten. 
 He turned over the pages, reading passages here and 
 there. They all seemed to him poor and trivial 
 mere words and childish rhymes! 
 
 One by one he tore his books to fragments, and 
 threw them into a vessel containing fire, and said: 
 " To thee, to thee, O my beauty, my fire ! Thou 
 hast been burning in my heart all these futile years. 
 If my life were a piece of gold it would come out of 
 its trial brighter, but it is a trodden turf of grass, and 
 nothing remains of it but this handful of ashes." 
 
 The night wore on. Shekhar opened wide his 
 windows. He spread upon his bed the white 
 flowers that he loved, the jasmines, tuberoses and 
 chrysanthemums, and brought into his bedroom all 
 the lamps he had in his house and lighted them. 
 Then mixing with honey the juice of some poisonous 
 root he drank it and lay down on his bed. 
 
 Golden anklets tinkled in the passage outside the 
 door, and a subtle perfume came into the room with 
 the breeze. 
 
 The poet, with his eyes shut, said: "My lady,
 
 40 THE VICTORY 
 
 have you taken pity upon your servant at last and 
 come to see him? " 
 
 The answer came in a sweet voice : " My poet, 
 I have come." 
 
 Shekhar opened his eyes and saw before his bed 
 the figure of a woman. 
 
 His sight was dim and blurred. And it seemed 
 to him that the image made of a shadow that he 
 had ever kept throned in the secret shrine of his 
 heart had come into the outer world in his last mo- 
 ment to gaze upon his face. 
 
 The woman said: " I am the Princess Ajita." 
 
 The poet with a great effort sat up on his bed. 
 
 The princess whispered into his ear: " The king 
 has not done you justice. It was you who won at 
 the combat, my poet, and I have come to crown you 
 with the crown of victory." 
 
 She took the garland of flowers from her own 
 neck, and put it on his hair, and the poet fell down 
 upon his bed stricken by death.
 
 ONCE THERE WAS A KING
 
 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 
 
 " ONCE upon a time there was a king." 
 
 When we were children there was no need to know 
 who the king in the fairy story was. It didn't mat- 
 ter whether he was called Shiladitya or Shaliban, 
 whether he lived at Kashi or Kanauj. The thing 
 that made a seven-year-old boy's heart go thump, 
 thump with delight was this one sovereign truth, this 
 reality of all realities: "Once there was a king." 
 
 But the readers of this modern age are far more 
 exact and exacting. When they hear such an open- 
 ing to a story, they are at once critical and suspicious. 
 They apply the searchlight of science to its legendary 
 haze and ask: " Which king? " 
 
 The story-tellers have become more precise in 
 their turn. They are no longer content with the 
 old indefinite, " There was a king," but assume in- 
 stead a look of profound learning, and begin: 
 " Once there was a king named Ajatasatru." 
 
 The modern reader's curiosity, however, is not so 
 
 43
 
 44 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 
 
 easily satisfied. He blinks at the author through 
 his scientific spectacles, and asks again: "Which 
 Ajatasatru? " 
 
 " Every schoolboy knows," the author proceeds, 
 " that there were three Ajatasatrus. The first was 
 born in the twentieth century B. c., and died at the 
 tender age of two years and eight months. I deeply 
 regret that it is impossible to find, from any trust- 
 worthy source, a detailed account of his reign. The 
 second Ajatasatru is better known to historians. If 
 you refer to the new Encyclopedia of History. . . ." 
 
 By this time the modern reader's suspicions are 
 dissolved. He feels he may safely trust his author. 
 He says to himself: " Now we shall have a story 
 that is both improving and instructive." 
 
 Ah ! how we all love to be deluded ! We have 
 a secret dread of being thought ignorant. And we 
 end by being ignorant after all, only we have done 
 it in a long and roundabout way. 
 
 There is an English proverb : " Ask me no ques- 
 tions, and I will tell you no lies." The boy of seven 
 who is listening to a fairy story understands that 
 perfectly well; he withholds his questions, while the 
 story is being told. So the pure and beautiful false- 
 hood of it all remains naked and innocent as a babe;
 
 45 
 
 transparent as truth itself; limpid as a fresh bubbling 
 spring. But the ponderous and learned lie of our 
 moderns has to keep its true character draped and 
 veiled. And if there is discovered anywhere the 
 least little peep-hole of deception, the reader turns 
 away with a prudish disgust, and the author is dis- 
 credited. 
 
 When we were young, we understood all sweet 
 things; and we could detect the sweets of a fairy 
 story by an unerring science of our own. We never 
 cared for such useless things as knowledge. We 
 only cared for truth. And our unsophisticated little 
 hearts knew well where the Crystal Palace of Truth 
 lay and how to reach it. But to-day we are ex- 
 . pected to write pages of facts, while the truth is 
 simply this: 
 
 " There was a king." 
 
 I remember vividly that evening in Calcutta when 
 the fairy story began. The rain and the storm had 
 been incessant. The whole of the city was flooded. 
 The water was knee-deep in our lane. I had a 
 straining hope, which was almost a certainty, that 
 my tutor would be prevented from coming that eve- 
 ning. I sat on the stool in the far corner of the 
 veranda looking down the lane, with a heart beating
 
 46 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 
 
 faster and faster. Every minute I kept my eye on 
 the rain, and when it began to grow less I prayed 
 with all my might: " Please, God, send some more 
 rain till half-past seven is over." For I was quite 
 ready to believe that there was no other need for 
 rain except to protect one helpless boy one evening 
 in one corner of Calcutta from the deadly clutches of 
 his tutor. 
 
 If not in answer to my prayer, at any rate accord- 
 ing to some grosser law of physical nature, the rain 
 did not give up. 
 
 But, alas! nor did my teacher. 
 
 Exactly to the minute, in the bend of the lane, I 
 saw his approaching umbrella. The great bubble 
 of hope burst in my breast, and my heart collapsed. 
 Truly, if there is a punishment to fit the crime after 
 death, then my tutor will be born again as me, and 
 I shall be born as my tutor. 
 
 As soon as I saw his umbrella I ran as hard as I 
 could to my mother's room. My mother and my 
 grandmother were sitting opposite one another play- 
 ing cards by the light of a lamp. I ran into the 
 room, and flung myself on the bed beside my mother, 
 and said: 
 
 " Mother dear, the tutor has come, and I have
 
 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 47 
 
 such a bad headache; couldn't I have no lessons to- 
 day?" 
 
 I hope no child of immature age will be allowed 
 to read this story, and I sincerely trust it will not 
 be used in text-books or primers for schools. For 
 what I did was dreadfully bad, and I received no 
 punishment whatever. On the contrary, my wick- 
 edness was crowned with success. 
 
 My mother said to me : " All right," and turn- 
 ing to the servant added: " Tell the tutor that he 
 can go back home." 
 
 It was perfectly plain that she didn't think my 
 illness very serious, as she went on with her game 
 as before, and took no further notice. And I also, 
 burying my head in the pillow, laughed to my heart's 
 content. We perfectly understood one another, my 
 mother and I. 
 
 But every one must know how hard it is for a 
 boy of seven years old to keep up the illusion of 
 illness for a long time. After about a minute I got 
 hold of Grandmother, and said: " Grannie, do tell 
 me a story." 
 
 I had to ask this many times. Grannie and 
 Mother went on playing cards, and took no notice. 
 At last Mother said to me : " Child, don't bother.
 
 48 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 
 
 Wait till we've finished our game." But I per- 
 sisted: "Grannie, do tell me a story." I told 
 Mother she could finish her game to-morrow, but 
 she must let Grannie tell me a story there and then. 
 
 At last Mother threw down the cards and said: 
 " You had better do what he wants. I can't manage 
 him." Perhaps she had it in her mind that she 
 would have no tiresome tutor on the morrow, while 
 I should be obliged to be back to those stupid lessons. 
 
 As soon as ever Mother had given way, I rushed 
 at Grannie. I got hold of her hand, and, dancing 
 with delight, dragged her inside my mosquito cur- 
 tain on to the bed. I clutched hold of the bolster 
 with both hands in my excitement, and jumped up 
 and down with joy, and when I had got a little 
 quieter, said: "Now, Grannie, let's have the 
 story! " 
 
 Grannie went on: " And the king had a queen." 
 That was good to begin with. He had only one. 
 
 It is usual for kings in fairy stories to be ex- 
 travagant in queens. And whenever we hear that 
 there are two queens, our hearts begin to sink. One 
 is sure to be unhappy. But in Grannie's story that 
 danger was past. He had only one queen. 
 
 We next hear that the king had not got any son.
 
 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 49 
 
 At the age of seven I didn't think there was any 
 need to bother if a man had had no son. He might 
 only have been in the way. 
 
 Nor are we greatly excited when we hear that 
 the king has gone away into the forest to practise 
 austerities in order to get a son. There was only 
 one thing that would have made me go into the 
 forest, and that was to get away from my tutor ! 
 
 But the king left behind with his queen a small 
 girl, who grew up into a beautiful princess. 
 
 Twelve years pass away, and the king goes on 
 practising austerities, and never thinks all this while 
 of his beautiful daughter. The princess has reached 
 the full bloom of her youth. The age of marriage 
 has passed, but the king does not return. And the 
 queen pines away with grief and cries : " Is my 
 golden daughter destined to die unmarried? Ah 
 me! What a fate is mine." 
 
 Then the queen sent men to the king to entreat him 
 earnestly to come back for a single night and take 
 one meal in the palace. And the king consented. 
 
 The queen cooked with her own hand, and with 
 the greatest care, sixty-four dishes, and made a seat 
 for him of sandal-wood, and arranged the food in 
 plates of gold and cups of silver. The princess
 
 50 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 
 
 stood behind with the peacock-tail fan in her hand. 
 The king, after twelve years' absence, came into the 
 house, and the princess waved the fan, lighting up 
 all the room with her beauty. The king looked in 
 his daughter's face, and forgot to take his food. 
 
 At last he asked his queen: " Pray, who is this 
 girl whose beauty shines as the gold image of the 
 goddess? Whose daughter is she?" 
 
 The queen beat her forehead, and cried: "Ah, 
 how evil is my fate ! Do you not know your own 
 daughter? " 
 
 The king was struck with amazement. He said 
 at last: "My tiny daughter has grown to be a 
 woman." 
 
 " What else? " the queen said with a sigh. " Do 
 you not know that twelve years have passed by? " 
 
 "But why did you not give her in marriage?" 
 asked the king. 
 
 ' You were away," the queen said. " And how 
 could I find her a suitable husband? " 
 
 The king became vehement with excitement. 
 ' The first man I see to-morrow," he said, " when 
 I come out of the palace shall marry her." 
 
 The princess went on waving her fan of peacock 
 feathers, and the king finished his meal.
 
 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 51 
 
 The next morning, as the king came out of his 
 palace, he saw the son of a Brahman gathering sticks 
 in the forest outside the palace gates. His age was 
 about seven or eight. 
 
 The king said: "I will marry my daughter to 
 him." 
 
 Who can interfere with a king's command? At 
 once the boy was called, and the marriage garlands 
 were exchanged between him and the princess. 
 
 At this point I came up close to my wise Grannie 
 and asked her eagerly: " What then? " 
 
 In the bottom of my heart there was a devout 
 wish to substitute myself for that fortunate wood- 
 gatherer of seven years old. The night was reso- 
 nant with the patter of rain. The earthen lamp by 
 my bedside was burning low. My grandmother's 
 voice droned on as she told the story. And all 
 these things served to create in a corner of my credu- 
 lous heart the belief that I had been gathering sticks 
 in the dawn of some indefinite time in the kingdom 
 of some unknown king, and in a moment garlands 
 had been exchanged between me and the princess, 
 beautiful as the Goddess of Grace. She had a gold 
 band on her hair and gold earrings in her ears. She 
 had a necklace and bracelets of gold, and a golden
 
 52 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 
 
 waist-chain round her waist, and a pair of golden 
 anklets tinkled above her feet. 
 
 If my grandmother were an author how many 
 explanations she would have to offer for this little 
 story! First of all, every one would ask why the 
 king remained twelve years in the forest? Sec- 
 ondly, why should the king's daughter remain un- 
 married all that while? This would be regarded as 
 absurd. 
 
 Even if she could have got so far without a quar- 
 rel, still there would have been a great hue and cry 
 about the marriage itself. First, it never happened. 
 Secondly, how could there be a marriage between a 
 princess of the Warrior Caste and a boy of the 
 priestly Brahman Caste? Her readers would have 
 imagined at once that the writer was preaching 
 against our social customs in an underhand way. 
 And they would write letters to the papers. 
 
 So I pray with all my heart that my grandmother 
 may be born a grandmother again, and not through 
 some cursed fate take birth as her luckless grandson. 
 
 So with a throb of joy and delight, I asked Gran- 
 nie: "What then?" 
 
 Grannie went on: Then the princess took her 
 little husband away in great distress, and built a
 
 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 53 
 
 large palace with seven wings, and began to cherish 
 her husband with great care. 
 
 I jumped up and down in my bed and clutched 
 at the bolster more tightly than ever and said: 
 "What then?" 
 
 Grannie continued : The little boy went to school 
 and learnt many lessons from his teachers, and as 
 he grew up his class-fellows began to ask him: 
 " Who is that beautiful lady who lives with you in 
 the palace with the seven wings? " 
 
 The Brahman's son was eager to know who she 
 was. He could only remember how one day he had 
 been gathering sticks, and a great disturbance arose. 
 But all that was so long ago, that he had no clear 
 recollection. 
 
 Four or five years passed in this way. His com- 
 panions always asked him: " Who is that beautiful 
 lady in the palace with the seven wings? " And the 
 Brahman's son would come back from school and 
 sadly tell the princess: "My school companions 
 always ask me who is that beautiful lady in the palace 
 with the seven wings, and I can give them no reply. 
 Tell me, oh, tell me, who you are ! " 
 
 The princess said: "Let it pass to-day. I will 
 tell you some other day." And every day the
 
 54 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 
 
 Brahman's son would ask: " Who are you? " and 
 the princess would reply: "Let it pass to-day. I 
 will tell you some other day." In this manner four 
 or five more years passed away. 
 
 At last the Brahman's son became very impatient, 
 and said: " If you do not tell me to-day who you 
 are, O beautiful lady, I will leave this palace with 
 the seven wings." Then the princess said: " I will 
 certainly tell you to-morrow." 
 
 Next day the Brahman's son, as soon as he came 
 home from school, said: "Now, tell me who you 
 are." The princess said : " To-night I will tell you 
 after supper, when you are in bed." 
 
 The Brahman's son said: " Very well "; and he 
 began to count the hours in expectation of the night. 
 And the princess, on her side, spread white flowers 
 over the golden bed, and lighted a gold lamp with 
 fragrant oil, and adorned her hair, and dressed her- 
 self in a beautiful robe of blue, and began to count 
 the hours in expectation of the night. 
 
 That evening when her husband, the Brahman's 
 son, had finished his meal, too excited almost to eat, 
 and had gone to the golden bed in the bed-chamber 
 strewn with flowers, he said to himself: ' To-night
 
 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 55 
 
 I shall surely know who this beautiful lady is in the 
 palace with the seven wings." 
 
 The princess took for her the food that was left 
 over by her husband, and slowly entered the bed- 
 chamber. She had to answer that night the ques- 
 tion, who was the beautiful lady who lived in the 
 palace with the seven wings. And as she went up 
 to the bed to tell him she found a serpent had crept 
 out of the flowers and had bitten the Brahman's son. 
 Her boy-husband was lying on the bed of flowers, 
 with face pale in death. 
 
 My heart suddenly ceased to throb, and I asked 
 with choking voice: " What then? " 
 
 Grannie said: "Then . . ." 
 
 But what is the use of going on any further with 
 the story? It would only lead on to what was more 
 and more impossible. The boy of seven did not 
 know that, if there were some " What then? " after 
 death, no grandmother of a grandmother could tell 
 us all about it. 
 
 But the child's faith never admits defeat, and it 
 would snatch at the mantle of death itself to turn 
 him back. It would be outrageous for him to think 
 that such a story of one teacherless evening could so
 
 56 ONCE THERE WAS A KING 
 
 suddenly come to a stop. Therefore the grand- 
 mother had to call back her story from the ever-shut 
 chamber of the great End, but she does it so simply: 
 it is merely by floating the dead body on a banana 
 stem on the river, and having some incantations read 
 by a magician. But in that rainy night and in the 
 dim light of a lamp death loses all its horror in the 
 mind of the boy, and seems nothing more than a 
 deep slumber of a single night. When the story 
 ends the tired eyelids are weighed down with sleep. 
 Thus it is that we send the little body of the child 
 floating on the back of sleep over the still water of 
 time, and then in the morning read a few verses of 
 incantation to restore him to the world of life and 
 light.
 
 THE HOME-COMING
 
 THE HOME-COMING 
 
 PHATIK CHAKRAVORTI was ringleader among the 
 boys of the village. A new mischief got into his 
 head. There was a heavy log lying on the mud- 
 flat of the river waiting to be shaped into a mast 
 for a boat. He decided that they should all work 
 together to shift the log by main force from its place 
 and roll it away. The owner of the log would be 
 angry and surprised, and they would all enjoy the 
 fun. Every one seconded the proposal, and it was 
 carried unanimously. 
 
 But just as the fun was about to begin, Makhan, 
 Phatik's younger brother, sauntered up, and sat 
 down on the log in front of them all without a word. 
 The boys were puzzled for a moment. He was 
 pushed, rather timidly, by one of the boys and told 
 to get up : but he remained quite unconcerned. He 
 appeared like a young philosopher meditating on 
 the futility of games. Phatik was furious. 
 " Makhan," he cried, " if you don't get down this 
 minute, I'll thrash you! " 
 
 59
 
 60 THE HOME-COMING 
 
 Makhan only moved to a more comfortable 
 position. 
 
 Now, if Phatik was to keep his regal dignity 
 before the public, it was clear he ought to carry out 
 his threat. But his courage failed him at the crisis. 
 His fertile brain, however, rapidly seized upon a 
 new manoeuvre which would discomfit his brother 
 and afford his followers an added amusement. He 
 gave the word of command to roll the log and 
 Makhan over together. Makhan heard the order, 
 and made it a point of honour to stick on. But he 
 overlooked the fact, like those who attempt earthly 
 fame in other matters, that there was peril in it. 
 
 The boys began to heave at the log with all their 
 might, calling out, " One, two, three, go." At the 
 word " go " the log went ; and with it went Makhan's 
 philosophy, glory and all. 
 
 All the other boys shouted themselves hoarse 
 with delight. But Phatik was a little frightened. 
 He knew what was coming. And, sure enough, 
 Makhan rose from Mother Earth blind as Fate and 
 screaming like the Furies. He rushed at Phatik 
 and scratched his face and beat him and kicked him, 
 and then went crying home. The first act of the 
 drama was over.
 
 THE HOME-COMING 61 
 
 Phatik wiped his face, and sat down on the edge 
 of a sunken barge on the river bank, and began to 
 chew a piece of grass. A boat came up to the land- 
 ing, and a middle-aged man, with grey hair and dark 
 moustache, stepped on shore. He saw the boy 
 sitting there doing nothing, and asked him where 
 the Chakravortis lived. Phatik went on chewing 
 the grass, and said: " Over there," but it was quite 
 impossible to tell where he pointed. The stranger 
 asked him again. He swung his legs to and fro on 
 the side of the barge, and said: " Go and find out," 
 and continued to chew the grass as before. 
 
 But now a servant came down from the house, 
 and told Phatik his mother wanted him. Phatik 
 refused to move. But the servant was the master 
 on this occasion. He took Phatik up roughly, and 
 carried him, kicking and struggling in impotent rage. 
 
 When Phatik came into the house, his mother 
 saw him. She called out angrily: "So you have 
 been hitting Makhan again?" 
 
 Phatik answered indignantly: "No, I haven't; 
 who told you that? " 
 
 His mother shouted: "Don't tell lies! You 
 have." 
 
 Phatik said suddenly: "I tell you, I haven't.
 
 62 THE HOME-COMING 
 
 You ask Makhan ! " But Makhan thought it best 
 to stick to his previous statement. He said: u Yes, 
 mother. Phatik did hit me." 
 
 Phatik's patience was already exhausted. He 
 could not bear this injustice. He rushed at Mak- 
 han, and hammered him with blows: " Take that," 
 he cried, " and that, and that, for telling lies." 
 
 His mother took Makhan's side in a moment, 
 
 and pulled Phatik away, beating him with her hands. 
 
 When Phatik pushed her aside, she shouted out: 
 
 ' What! you little villain! would you hit your own 
 
 mother? " 
 
 It was just at this critical juncture that the grey- 
 haired stranger arrived. He asked what was the 
 matter. Phatik looked sheepish and ashamed. 
 
 But when his mother stepped back and looked 
 at the stranger, her anger was changed to surprise. 
 For she recognised her brother, and cried: "Why, 
 Dada ! Where have you come from?" 
 
 As she said these words, she bowed to the ground 
 and touched his feet. Her brother had gone away 
 soon after she had married, and he had started busi- 
 ness in Bombay. His sister had lost her husband 
 while he was in Bombay. Bishamber had now come 
 back to Calcutta, and had at once made enquiries
 
 THE HOME-COMING 63 
 
 about his sister. He had then hastened to see her 
 as soon as he found out where she was. 
 
 The next few days were full of rejoicing. The 
 brother asked after the education of the two boys. 
 He was told by his sister that Phatik was a per- 
 petual nuisance. He was lazy, disobedient, and 
 wild. But Makhan was as good as gold, as quiet 
 as a lamb, and very fond of reading. Bishamber 
 kindly offered to take Phatik off his sister's hands, 
 and educate him with his own children in Calcutta. 
 The widowed mother readily agreed. When his 
 uncle asked Phatik if he would like to go to Cal- 
 cutta with him, his joy knew no bounds, and he said: 
 " Oh, yes, uncle ! " in a way that made it quite clear 
 that he meant it. 
 
 It was an immense relief to the mother to get 
 rid of Phatik. She had a prejudice against the boy, 
 and no love was lost between the two brothers. She 
 was in daily fear that he would either drown Mak- 
 han some day in the river, or break his head in a 
 fight, or run him into some danger or other. At 
 the same time she was somewhat distressed to see 
 Phatik's extreme eagerness to get away. 
 
 Phatik, as soon as all was settled, kept asking 
 his uncle every minute when they were to start.
 
 64 THE HOME-COMING 
 
 He was on pins and needles all day long with ex- 
 citement, and lay awake most of the night. He 
 bequeathed to Makhan, in perpetuity, his fishing- 
 rod, his big kite and his marbles. Indeed, at this 
 time of departure his generosity towards Makhan 
 was unbounded. 
 
 When they reached Calcutta, Phatik made the 
 acquaintance of his aunt for the first time. She was 
 by no means pleased with this unnecessary addition 
 to her family. She found her own three boys quite 
 enough to manage without taking any one else. 
 And to bring a village lad of fourteen into their 
 midst was terribly upsetting. Bishamber should 
 really have thought twice before committing such an 
 indiscretion. 
 
 In this world of human affairs there is no worse 
 nuisance than a boy at the age of fourteen. He is 
 neither ornamental, nor useful. It is impossible to 
 shower affection on him as on a little boy; and he 
 is always getting in the way. If he talks with a 
 childish lisp he is called a baby, and if he answers 
 in a grown-up way he is called impertinent. In fact 
 any talk at all from him is resented. Then he is at 
 the unattractive, growing age. He grows out of 
 his clothes with indecent haste; his voice grows
 
 THE HOME-COMING 65 
 
 hoarse and breaks and quavers; his face grows sud- 
 denly angular and unsightly. It is easy to excuse 
 the shortcomings of early childhood, but it is hard 
 to tolerate even unavoidable lapses in a boy of four- 
 teen. The lad himself becomes painfully self-con- 
 scious. When he talks with elderly people he is 
 either unduly forward, or else so unduly shy that 
 he appears ashamed of his very existence. 
 
 Yet it is at this very age when in his heart of 
 hearts a young lad most craves for recognition and 
 love; and he becomes the devoted slave of any one 
 who shows him consideration. But none dare 
 openly love him, for that would be regarded as 
 undue indulgence, and therefore bad for the boy. 
 So, what with scolding and chiding, he becomes very 
 much like a stray dog that has lost his master. 
 
 For a boy of fourteen his own home is the only 
 Paradise. To live in a strange house with strange 
 people is little short of torture, while the height 
 of bliss is to receive the kind looks of women, and 
 never to be slighted by them. 
 
 It was anguish to Phatik to be the unwelcome 
 guest in his aunt's house, despised by this elderly 
 woman, and slighted on every occasion. If she 
 ever asked him to do anything for her, he would
 
 66 THE HOME-COMING 
 
 be so overjoyed that he would overdo it; and then 
 she would tell him not to be so stupid, but to get 
 on with his lessons. 
 
 The cramped atmosphere of neglect in his aunt's 
 house oppressed Phatik so much that he felt that 
 he could hardly breathe. He wanted to go out into 
 the open country and fill his lungs and breathe 
 freely. But there was no open country to go to. 
 Surrounded on all sides by Calcutta houses and 
 walls, he would dream night after night of his vil- 
 lage home, and long to be back there. He remem- 
 bered the glorious meadow where he used to fly his 
 kite all day long; the broad river-banks where he 
 would wander about the livelong day singing and 
 shouting for joy; the narrow brook where he could 
 go and dive and swim at any time he liked. He 
 thought of his band of boy companions over whom 
 he was despot; and, above all, the memory of that 
 tyrant mother of his, who had such a prejudice 
 against him, occupied him day and night. A kind 
 of physical love like that of animals; a longing to 
 be in the presence of the one who is loved; an inex- 
 pressible wistfulness during absence; a silent cry of 
 the inmost heart for the mother, like the lowing of 
 a calf in the twilight; this love, which was almost
 
 THE HOME-COMING 67 
 
 an animal instinct, agitated the shy, nervous, lean, 
 uncouth and ugly boy. No one could understand 
 it, but it preyed upon his mind continually. 
 
 There was no more backward boy in the whole 
 school than Phatik. He gaped and remained silent 
 when the teacher asked him a question, and like an 
 overladen ass patiently suffered all the blows that 
 came down on his back. When other boys were out 
 at play, he stood wistfully by the window and gazed 
 at the roofs of the distant houses. And if by chance 
 he espied children playing on the open terrace of 
 any roof, his heart would ache with longing. 
 
 One day he summoned up all his courage, and 
 asked his uncle: "Uncle, when can I go home?" 
 
 His uncle answered: "Wait till the holidays 
 come." 
 
 But the holidays would not come till November, 
 and there was a long time still to wait. 
 
 One day Phatik lost his lesson-book. Even with 
 the help of books he had found it very difficult 
 indeed to prepare his lesson. Now it was impos- 
 sible. Day after day the teacher would cane him 
 unmercifully. His condition became so abjectly 
 miserable that even his cousins were ashamed to own 
 him. They began to jeer and insult him more than
 
 68 THE HOME-COMING 
 
 the other boys. He went to his aunt at last, and 
 told her that he had lost his book. 
 
 His aunt pursed her lips in contempt, and said: 
 " You great clumsy, country lout. How can I 
 afford, with all my family, to buy you new books 
 five times a month? " 
 
 That night, on his way back from school, Phatik 
 had a bad headache with a fit of shivering. He 
 felt he was going to have an attack of malarial fever. 
 His one great fear was that he would be a nuisance 
 to his aunt. 
 
 The next morning Phatik was nowhere to be seen. 
 All searches in the neighbourhood proved futile. 
 The rain had been pouring in torrents all night, and 
 those who went out in search of the boy got drenched 
 through to the skin. At last Bishamber asked help 
 from the police. 
 
 At the end of the day a police van stopped at 
 the door before the house. It was still raining and 
 the streets were all flooded. Two constables 
 brought out Phatik in their arms and placed him 
 before Bishamber. He was wet through from head 
 to foot, muddy all over, his face and eyes flushed 
 red with fever, and his limbs all trembling. Bis- 
 hamber carried him in his arms, and took him into
 
 THE HOME-COMING 69 
 
 the inner apartments. When his wife saw him, she 
 exclaimed : " What a heap of trouble this boy has 
 given us. Hadn't you better send him home? " 
 
 Phatik heard her words, and sobbed out loud: 
 "Uncle, I was just going home; but they dragged 
 me back again." 
 
 The fever rose very high, and all that night the 
 boy was delirious. Bishamber brought in a doctor. 
 Phatik opened his eyes flushed with fever, and 
 looked up to the ceiling, and said vacantly: " Uncle, 
 have the holidays come yet? May I go home? " 
 
 Bishamber wiped the tears from his own eyes, 
 and took Phatik's lean and burning hands in his own, 
 and sat by him through the night. The boy began 
 again to mutter. At last his voice became excited: 
 "Mother," he cried, "don't beat me like that! 
 Mother! I am telling the truth! " 
 
 The next day Phatik became conscious for a short 
 time. He turned his eyes about the room, as if ex- 
 pecting some one to come. At last, with an air of 
 disappointment, his head sank back on the pillow. 
 He turned his face to the wall with a deep sigh. 
 
 Bishamber knew his thoughts, and, bending down 
 his head, whispered: " Phatik, I have sent for your 
 mother."
 
 70 THE HOME-COMING 
 
 The day went by. The doctor said in a troubled 
 voice that the boy's condition was very critical. 
 
 Phatik began to cry out: " By the mark! three 
 fathoms. By the mark four fathoms. By the 
 mark ." He had heard the sailor on the river- 
 steamer calling out the mark on the plumb-line. 
 Now he was himself plumbing an unfathomable sea. 
 
 Later in the day Phatik's mother burst into the 
 room like a whirlwind, and began to toss from side 
 to side and moan and cry in a loud voice. 
 
 Bishamber tried to calm her agitation, but she 
 flung herself on the bed, and cried: "Phatik, my 
 darling, my darling." 
 
 Phatik stopped his restless movements for a mo- 
 ment. His hands ceased beating up and down. 
 He said: " Eh? " 
 
 The mother cried again : " Phatik, my darling, 
 my darling." 
 
 Phatik very slowly turned his head and, without 
 seeing anybody, said: "Mother, the holidays have 
 
 come."
 
 MY LORD, THE BABY
 
 MY LORD, THE BABY 
 
 RAICHARAN was twelve years old when he came 
 as a servant to his master's house. He belonged to 
 the same caste as his master, and was given his mas- 
 ter's little son to nurse. As time went on the boy 
 left Raicharan's arms to go to school. From school 
 he went on to college, and after college he entered 
 the judicial service. Always, until he married, 
 Raicharan was his sole attendant. 
 
 But, when a mistress came into the house, 
 Raicharan found two masters instead of one. All 
 his former influence passed to the new mistress. 
 This was compensated for by a fresh arrival. 
 Anukul had a son born to him, and Raicharan by 
 his unsparing attentions soon got a complete hold 
 over the child. He used to toss him up in his arms, 
 call to him in absurd baby language, put his face 
 close to the baby's and draw it away again with a 
 grin. 
 
 73
 
 74 MY LORD, THE BABY 
 
 Presently the child was able to crawl and cross 
 the doorway. When Raicharan went to catch him, 
 he would scream with mischievous laughter and 
 make for safety. Raicharan was amazed at the pro- 
 found skill and exact judgment the baby showed 
 when pursued. He would say to his mistress with 
 a look of awe and mystery: "Your son will be a 
 judge some day." 
 
 New wonders came in their turn. When the 
 baby began to toddle, that was to Raicharan an 
 epoch in human history. When he called his father 
 Ba-ba and his mother Ma-ma and Raicharan 
 Chan-na, then Raicharan's ecstasy knew no bounds. 
 He went out to tell the news to all the world. 
 
 After a while Raicharan was asked to show his 
 ingenuity in other ways. He had, for instance, to 
 play the part of a horse, holding the reins between 
 his teeth and prancing with his feet. He had also 
 to wrestle with his little charge, and if he could not, 
 by a wrestler's trick, fall on his back defeated at the 
 end, a great outcry was certain. 
 
 About this time Anukul was transferred to a 
 district on the banks of the Padma. On his way 
 through Calcutta he bought his son a little go-cart. 
 He bought him also a yellow satin waistcoat, a gold-
 
 MY LORD, THE BABY 75 
 
 laced cap, and some gold bracelets and anklets. 
 Raicharan was wont to take these out, and put them 
 on his little charge with ceremonial pride, whenever 
 they went for a walk. 
 
 Then came the rainy season, and day after day 
 the rain poured down in torrents. The hungry 
 river, like an enormous serpent, swallowed down ter- 
 races, villages, cornfields, and covered with its flood 
 the tall grasses and wild casuarinas on the sand- 
 banks. From time to time there was a deep thud, 
 as the river-banks crumbled. The unceasing roar 
 of the main current could be heard from far away. 
 Masses of foam, carried swiftly past, proved to the 
 eye the swiftness of the stream. 
 
 One afternoon the rain cleared. It was cloudy, 
 but cool and bright. Raicharan's little despot did 
 not want to stay in on such a fine afternoon. His 
 lordship climbed into the go-cart. Raicharan, be- 
 tween the shafts, dragged him slowly along till he 
 reached the rice-fields on the banks of the river. 
 There was no one in the fields, and no boat on the 
 stream. Across the water, on the farther side, the 
 clouds were rifted in the west. The silent ceremon- 
 ial of the setting sun was revealed in all its glowing 
 splendour. In the midst of that stillness the child,
 
 76 MY LORD, THE BABY 
 
 all of a sudden, pointed with his finger in front of 
 him and cried: " Chan-na ! Pitty fow." 
 
 Close by on a mud-flat stood a large Kactamba 
 tree in full flower. My lord, the baby, looked at 
 it with greedy eyes, and Raicharan knew his mean- 
 ing. Only a short time before he had made, out 
 of these very flower balls, a small go-cart; and the 
 child had been so entirely happy dragging it about 
 with a string, that for the whole day Raicharan was 
 not made to put on the reins at all. He was pro- 
 moted from a horse into a groom. 
 
 But Raicharan had no wish that evening to go 
 splashing knee-deep through the mud to reach the 
 flowers. So he quickly pointed his finger in the op- 
 posite direction, calling out: " Oh, look, baby, look! 
 Look at the bird." And with all sorts of curious 
 noises he pushed the go-cart rapidly away from the 
 tree. 
 
 But a child, destined to be a judge, cannot be put 
 off so easily. And besides, there was at the time 
 nothing to attract his eyes. And you cannot keep 
 up for ever the pretence of an imaginary bird. 
 
 The little Master's mind was made up, and 
 Raicharan was at his wits' end. ' Very well, baby," 
 he said at last, " you sit still in the cart, and I'll go
 
 MY LORD, THE BABY 77 
 
 and get you the pretty flower. Only mind you don't 
 go near the water." 
 
 As he said this, he made his legs bare to the knee, 
 and waded through the oozing mud towards the tree. 
 
 L The moment Raicharan had gone, his little Master 
 went off at racing speed to the forbidden water. 
 The baby saw the river rushing by, splashing and 
 gurgling as it went. It seemed as though the dis- 
 obedient wavelets themselves were running away 
 from some greater Raicharan with the laughter of a 
 thousand children. At the sight of their mischief, 
 the heart of the human child grew excited and rest- 
 less. He got down stealthily from the go-cart and 
 toddled off towards the river. On his way he picked 
 up a small stick, and leant over the bank of the 
 stream pretending to fish. The mischievous fairies 
 of the river with their mysterious voices seemed in- 
 viting him into their play-house. 
 
 Raicharan had plucked a handful of flowers from 
 the tree, and was carrying them back in the end of 
 his cloth, with his face wreathed in smiles. But 
 when he reached the go-cart, there was no one there. 
 He looked on all sides and there was no one there. 
 He looked back at the cart and there was no one 
 there.
 
 78 MY LORD, THE BABY 
 
 In that first terrible moment his blood froze 
 within him. Before his eyes the whole universe 
 swam round like a dark mist. From the depth of 
 his broken heart he gave one piercing cry: " Master, 
 Master, little Master." 
 
 But no voice answered " Chan-na." No child 
 laughed mischievously back; no scream of baby de- 
 light welcomed his return. Only the river ran on, 
 with its splashing, gurgling noise as before, as 
 though it knew nothing at all, and had no time to 
 attend to such a tiny human event as the death of a 
 child. 
 
 As the evening passed by Raicharan's mistress 
 became very anxious. She sent men out on all sides 
 to search. They went with lanterns in their hands, 
 and reached at last the banks of the Padma. There 
 they found Raicharan rushing up and down the fields, 
 like a stormy wind, shouting the cry of despair: 
 " Master, Master, little Master! " 
 
 When they got Raicharan home at last, he fell 
 prostrate at his mistress's feet. They shook him, 
 and questioned him, and asked him repeatedly where 
 he had left the child; but all he could say was, that 
 he knew nothing. 
 
 Though every one held the opinion that the
 
 MY LORD, THE BABY 79 
 
 Padma had swallowed the child, there was a lurk- 
 ing doubt left in the mind. For a band of gipsies 
 had been noticed outside the village that afternoon, 
 and some suspicion rested on them. The mother 
 went so far in her wild grief as to think it possible 
 that Raicharan himself had stolen the child. She 
 called him aside with piteous entreaty and said: 
 " Raicharan, give me back my baby. Oh! give me 
 back my child. Take from me any money you ask, 
 but give me back my child ! " 
 
 Raicharan only beat his forehead in reply. His 
 mistress ordered him out of the house. 
 
 Anukul tried to reason his wife out of this wholly 
 unjust suspicion: " Why on earth," he said, " should 
 he commit such a crime as that? " 
 
 The mother only replied: "The baby had gold 
 ornaments on his body. Who knows? " 
 
 It was impossible to reason with her after that. 
 
 II 
 
 Raicharan went back to his own village. Up to 
 this time he had had no son, and there was no hope 
 that any child would now be born to him. But it 
 came about before the end of a year that his wife 
 gave birth to a son and died.
 
 8o 
 
 An overwhelming resentment at first grew up 
 in Raicharan's heart at the sight of this new baby. 
 At the back of his mind was resentful suspicion that 
 it had come as a usurper in place of the little Master. 
 He also thought it would be a grave offence to be 
 happy with a son of his own after what had hap- 
 pened to his master's little child. Indeed, if it had 
 not been for a widowed sister, who mothered the 
 new baby, it would not have lived long. 
 
 But a change gradually came over Raicharan's 
 mind. A wonderful thing happened. This new 
 baby in turn began to crawl about, and cross the 
 doorway with mischief in its face. It also showed 
 an amusing cleverness in making its escape to safety. 
 Its voice, its sounds of laughter and tears, its ges- 
 tures, were those of the little Master. On some 
 days, when Raicharan listened to its crying, his heart 
 suddenly began thumping wildly against his ribs, 
 and it seemed to him that his former little Master 
 was crying somewhere in the unknown land of death 
 because he had lost his Chan-na. 
 
 Phailna (for that was the name Raicharan's sister 
 gave to the new baby) soon began to talk. It learnt 
 to say Ba-ba and Ma-ma with a baby accent. When 
 Raicharan heard those familiar sounds the mystery
 
 
 MY LORD, THE BABY Si 
 
 suddenly became clear. The little Master could not 
 cast off the spell of his Chan-na, and therefore he 
 had been reborn in his own house. 
 
 The arguments in favour of this were, to Raich- 
 aran, altogether beyond dispute : 
 
 (i.) The new baby was born soon after his little 
 master's death. 
 
 (ii.) His wife could never have accumulated such 
 merit as to give birth to a son in middle age. 
 
 (iii.) The new baby walked with a toddle and 
 called out Ba-ba and Ma-ma. There was no sign 
 lacking which marked out the future judge. 
 
 Then suddenly Raicharan remembered that ter- 
 rible accusation of the mother. " Ah," he said to 
 himself with amazement, " the mother's heart was 
 right. She knew I had stolen her child." When 
 once he had come to this conclusion, he was filled 
 with remorse for his past neglect. He now gave 
 himself over, body and soul, to the new baby, and 
 became its devoted attendant. He began to bring it 
 up, as if it were the son of a rich man. He bought 
 a go-cart, a yellow satin waistcoat, and a gold- 
 embroidered cap. He melted down the ornaments 
 of his dead wife, and made gold bangles and anklets. 
 He refused to let the little child play with any one
 
 82 MY LORD, THE BABY 
 
 of the neighbourhood, and became himself its sole 
 companion day and night. As the baby grew up 
 to boyhood, he was so petted and spoilt and clad 
 in such finery that the village children would call him 
 " Your Lordship," and jeer at him; and older peo- 
 ple regarded Raicharan as unaccountably crazy about 
 the child. 
 
 At last the time came for the boy to go to school. 
 Raicharan sold his small piece of land, and went to 
 Calcutta. There he got employment with great 
 difficulty as a servant, and sent Phailna to school. 
 He spared no pains to give him the best education, 
 the best clothes, the best food. Meanwhile he lived 
 himself on a mere handful of rice, and would say 
 in secret: "Ah! my little Master, my dear little 
 Master, you loved me so much that you came back 
 to my house. You shall never suffer from any neg- 
 lect of mine." 
 
 Twelve years passed away in this manner. The 
 boy was able to read and write well. He was bright 
 and healthy and good-looking. He paid a great 
 deal of attention to his personal appearance, and 
 was specially careful in parting his hair. He was 
 inclined to extravagance and finery, and spent money 
 freely. He could never quite look on Raicharan
 
 MY LORD, THE BABY 83 
 
 as a father, because, though fatherly in affection, he 
 had the manner of a servant. A further fault was 
 this, that Raicharan kept secret from every one that 
 himself was the father of the child. 
 
 The students of the hostel, where Phailna was a 
 boarder, were greatly amused by Raicharan's coun- 
 try manners, and I have to confess that behind his 
 father's back Phailna joined in their fun. But, in 
 the bottom of their hearts, all the students loved 
 the innocent and tender-hearted old man, and 
 Phailna was very fond of him also. But, as I have 
 said before, he loved him with a kind of con- 
 descension. 
 
 Raicharan grew older and older, and his employer 
 was continually finding fault with him for his incom- 
 petent work. He had been starving himself for the 
 boy's sake. So he had grown physically weak, and 
 no longer up to his work. He would forget things, 
 and his mind became dull and stupid. But his em- 
 ployer expected a full servant's work out of him, 
 and would not brook excuses. The money that 
 Raicharan had brought with him from the sale of 
 his land was exhausted. The boy was continually 
 grumbling about his clothes, and asking for more 
 money.
 
 84 MY LORD, THE BABY 
 
 in 
 
 Raicharan made up his mind. He gave up the 
 situation where he was working as a servant, and left 
 some money with Phailna and said: " I have some 
 business to do at home in my village, and shall be 
 back soon." 
 
 He went off at once to Baraset where Anukul was 
 magistrate. Anukul's wife was still broken down 
 with grief. She had had no other child. 
 
 One day Anukul was resting after a long and 
 weary day in court. His wife was buying, at an 
 exorbitant price, a herb from a mendicant quack, 
 which was said to ensure the birth of a child. A 
 voice of greeting was heard in the courtyard. 
 Anukul went out to see who was there. It was 
 Raicharan. Anukul's heart was softened when he 
 saw his old servant. He asked him many questions, 
 and offered to take him back into service. 
 
 Raicharan smiled faintly, and said in reply: "I 
 want to make obeisance to my mistress." 
 
 Anukul went with Raicharan into the house, where 
 the mistress did not receive him as warmly as his 
 old master. Raicharan took no notice of this, but 
 folded his hands, and said: " It was not the Padma 
 that stole your baby. It was I."
 
 MY LORD, THE BABY 85 
 
 Anukul exclaimed: "Great God! Eh! What! 
 Where is he?" 
 
 Raicharan replied: " He is with me. I will bring 
 him the day after to-morrow." 
 
 It was Sunday. There was no magistrate's court 
 sitting. Both husband and wife were looking ex- 
 pectantly along the road, waiting from early morn- 
 ing for Raicharan's appearance. At ten o'clock he 
 came, leading Phailna by the hand. 
 
 Anukul's wife, without a question, took the boy 
 into her lap, and was wild with excitement, some- 
 times laughing, sometimes weeping, touching him, 
 kissing his hair and his forehead, and gazing into 
 his face with hungry, eager eyes. The boy was very 
 good-looking and dressed like a gentleman's son. 
 The heart of Anukul brimmed over with a sudden 
 rush of affection. 
 
 Nevertheless the magistrate in him asked: " Have 
 you any proofs? " 
 
 Raicharan said: " How could there be any proof 
 of such a deed? God alone knows that I stole your 
 boy, and no one else in the world." 
 
 When Anukul saw how eagerly his wife was 
 clinging to the boy, he realised the futility of asking 
 for proofs. It would be wiser to believe. And
 
 86 MY LORD, THE BABY 
 
 then where could an old man like Raicharan get 
 such a boy from? And why should his faithful 
 servant deceive him for nothing? 
 
 " But," he added severely, " Raicharan, you must 
 not stay here." 
 
 " Where shall I go, Master? " said Raicharan, in 
 a choking voice, folding his hands; "I am old. 
 Who will take in an old man as a servant? " 
 
 The mistress said: " Let him stay. My child will 
 be pleased. I forgive him." 
 
 But Anukul's magisterial conscience would not 
 allow him. " No," he said, " he cannot be forgiven 
 for what he has done." 
 
 Raicharan bowed to the ground, and clasped 
 Anukul's feet. " Master," he cried, " let me stay. 
 It was not I who did it. It was God." 
 
 Anukul's conscience was worse stricken than ever, 
 when Raicharan tried to put the blame on God's 
 shoulders. 
 
 " No," he said, " I could not allow it. I cannot 
 trust you any more. You have done an act of 
 treachery." 
 
 Raicharan rose to his feet and said: " It was not 
 I who did it." 
 
 "Who was it then?" asked Anukul.
 
 MY LORD, THE BABY 87 
 
 Raicharan replied: " It was my fate." 
 
 But no educated man could take this for an excuse. 
 Anukul remained obdurate. 
 
 When Phailna saw that he was the wealthy mag- 
 istrate's son, and not Raicharan's, he was angry at 
 first, thinking that he had been cheated all this time 
 of his birthright. But seeing Raicharan in distress, 
 he generously said to his father: "Father, forgive 
 him. Even if you don't let him live with us, let him 
 have a small monthly pension." 
 
 After hearing this, Raicharan did not utter an- 
 other word. He looked for the last time on the 
 face of his son; he made obeisance to his old master 
 and mistress. Then he went out, and was mingled 
 with the numberless people of the world. 
 
 At the end of the month Anukul sent him some 
 money to his village. But the money came back. 
 There was no one there of the name of Raicharan.
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 
 
 ONCE upon a time there was a lonely island in a 
 distant sea where lived the Kings and Queens, the 
 Aces and the Knaves, in the Kingdom of Cards. 
 The Tens and Nines, with the Twos and Threes, 
 and all the other members, had long ago settled 
 there also. But these were not twice-born people, 
 like the famous Court Cards. 
 
 The Ace, the King, and the Knave were the three 
 highest castes. The fourth caste was made up of 
 a mixture of the lower Cards. The Twos and 
 Threes were lowest of all. These inferior Cards 
 were never allowed to sit in the same row with the 
 great Court Cards. 
 
 Wonderful indeed were the regulations and rules 
 of that island kingdom. The particular rank of 
 each individual had been settled from time imme- 
 morial. Every one had his own appointed work, 
 
 91
 
 92 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 
 
 and never did anything else. An unseen hand ap- 
 peared to be directing them wherever they went, 
 according to the Rules. 
 
 No one in the Kingdom of Cards had any occa- 
 sion to think: no one had any need to come to any 
 decision: no one was ever required to debate any 
 new subject. The citizens all moved along in a list- 
 less groove without speech. When they fell, they 
 made no noise. They lay down on their backs, and 
 gazed upward at the sky with each prim feature 
 firmly fixed for ever. 
 
 There was a remarkable stillness in the Kingdom 
 of Cards. Satisfaction and contentment were com- 
 plete in all their rounded wholeness. There was 
 never any uproar or violence. There was never 
 any excitement or enthusiasm. 
 
 The great ocean, crooning its lullaby with one 
 unceasing melody, lapped the island to sleep with 
 a thousand soft touches of its wave's white hands. 
 The vast sky, like the outspread azure wings of the 
 brooding mother-bird, nestled the island round with 
 its downy plume. For on the distant horizon a deep 
 blue line betokened another shore. But no sound 
 of quarrel or strife could reach the Island of Cards, 
 to break its calm repose.
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 93 
 
 ii 
 
 In that far-off foreign land across the sea, there 
 lived a young Prince whose mother was a sorrowing 
 queen. This queen had fallen from favour, and 
 was living with her only son on the seashore. The 
 Prince passed his childhood alone and forlorn, sit- 
 ting by his forlorn mother, weaving the net of his 
 big desires. He longed to go in search of the Fly- 
 ing Horse, the jewel in the Cobra's hood, the Rose 
 of Heaven, the Magic Roads, or to find where the 
 Princess Beauty was sleeping in the Ogre's castle 
 over the thirteen rivers and across the seven seas. 
 
 From the Son of the Merchant at school the young 
 Prince learnt the stories of foreign kingdoms. 
 From the Son of the Kotwal he learnt the adven- 
 tures of the Two Genii of the Lamp. And when 
 the rain came beating down, and the clouds covered 
 the sky, he would sit on the threshold facing the sea, 
 and say to his sorrowing mother: " Tell me, mother, 
 a story of some very far-off land." 
 
 And his mother would tell him an endless tale she 
 had heard in her childhood of a wonderful country 
 beyond the sea where dwelt the Princess Beauty. 
 And the heart of the young Prince would become
 
 94 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 
 
 sick with longing, as he sat on the threshold, look- 
 ing out on the ocean, listening to his mother's won- 
 derful story, while the rain outside came beating 
 down and the grey clouds covered the sky. 
 
 One day the Son of the Merchant came to the 
 Prince, and said boldly: " Comrade, my studies are 
 over. I am now setting out on my travels to seek 
 my fortunes on the sea. I have come to bid you 
 good-bye." 
 
 The Prince said: " I will go with you." 
 
 And the Son of Kotwal said also: " Comrades, 
 trusty and true, you will not leave me behind. I 
 also will be your companion." 
 
 Then the young Prince said to his sorrowing 
 mother: "Mother, I am now setting out on my 
 travels to seek my fortune. When I come back 
 once more, I shall surely have found some way to 
 remove all your sorrow." 
 
 So the Three Companions set out on their travels 
 together. In the harbour were anchored the twelve 
 ships of the merchant, and the Three Companions 
 got on board. The south wind was blowing, and the 
 twelve ships sailed away, as fast as the desires which 
 rose in the Prince's breast. 
 
 At the Conch Shell Island they filled one ship
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 95 
 
 with conchs. At the Sandal Wood Island they 
 filled a second ship with sandal-wood, and at the 
 Coral Island they filled a third ship with coral. 
 
 Four years passed away, and they filled four more 
 ships, one with ivory, one with musk, one with 
 cloves, and one with nutmegs. 
 
 But when these ships were all loaded a terrible 
 tempest arose. The ships were all of them sunk, 
 with their cloves and nutmeg, and musk and ivory, 
 and coral and sandal-wood and conchs. But the 
 ship with the Three Companions struck on an island 
 reef, hurled them safe ashore, and itself broke in 
 pieces. 
 
 This was the famous Island of Cards, where lived 
 the Ace and King and Queen and Knave, with the 
 Nines and Tens and all the other members ac- 
 cording to the Rules. 
 
 ill 
 
 Up till now there had been nothing to disturb 
 that island stillness. No new thing had ever hap- 
 pened. No discussion had ever been held. 
 
 And then, of a sudden, the Three Companions ap- 
 peared, thrown up by the sea, and the Great De- 
 bate began. There were three main points of dispute.
 
 96 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 
 
 First, to what caste should these unclassed 
 strangers belong? Should they rank with the Court 
 Cards? Or were they merely lower-caste people, 
 to be ranked with the Nines and Tens? No prec- 
 edent could be quoted to decide this weighty ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Secondly, what was their clan? Had they the 
 fairer hue and bright complexion of the Hearts, or 
 was theirs the darker complexion of the Clubs? 
 Over this question there were interminable disputes. 
 The whole marriage system of the island, with its 
 intricate regulations, would depend on its nice ad- 
 justment. 
 
 Thirdly, what food should they take? With 
 whom should they live and sleep? And should their 
 heads be placed south-west, north-west, or only 
 north-east? In all the Kingdom of Cards a series 
 of problems so vital and critical had never been de- 
 bated before. 
 
 But the Three Companions grew desperately 
 hungry. They had to get food in some way or 
 other. So while this debate went on, with its inter- 
 minable silence and pauses, and while the Aces 
 called their own meeting, and formed themselves 
 into a Committee, to find some obsolete dealing with
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 97 
 
 the question, the Three Companions themselves were 
 eating all they could find, and drinking out of every 
 vessel, and breaking all regulations. 
 
 Even the Twos and Threes were shocked at this 
 outrageous behaviour. The Threes said: " Brother 
 Twos, these people are openly shameless!" And 
 the Twos said: " Brother Threes, they are evidently 
 of lower caste than ourselves ! " 
 
 After their meal was over, the Three Companions 
 went for a stroll in the city. 
 
 When they saw the ponderous people moving in 
 their dismal processions with prim and solemn faces, 
 then the Prince turned to the Son of the Merchant 
 and the Son of the Kotwal, and threw back his head, 
 and gave one stupendous laugh. 
 
 Down Royal Street and across Ace Square and 
 along the Knave Embankment ran the quiver of this 
 strange, unheard-of laughter, the laughter that, 
 amazed at itself, expired in the vast vacuum of 
 silence. 
 
 The Son of the Kotwal and the Son of the Mer- 
 chant were chilled through to the bone by the ghost- 
 like stillness around them. They turned to the 
 Prince, and said: " Comrade, let us away. Let us 
 not stop for a moment in this awful land of ghosts."
 
 98 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 
 
 But the Prince said: " Comrades, these people re- 
 semble men, so I am going to find out, by shaking 
 them upside down and outside in, whether they have 
 a single drop of warm living blood left in their 
 veins." 
 
 IV 
 
 The days passed one by one, and the placid exist- 
 ence of the Island went on almost without a ripple. 
 The Three Companions obeyed no rules nor regula- 
 tions. They never did anything correctly either in 
 sitting or standing or turning themselves round or 
 lying on their back. On the contrary, wherever they 
 saw these things going on precisely and exactly ac- 
 cording to the Rules, they gave way to inordinate 
 laughter. They remained unimpressed altogether 
 by the eternal gravity of those eternal regulations. 
 
 One day the great Court Cards came to the Son 
 of the Kotwal and the Son of the Merchant and the 
 Prince. 
 
 " Why," they asked slowly, " are you not moving 
 according to the Rules? " 
 
 The Three Companions answered: " Because that 
 is our Ichcha (wish)." 
 
 The great Court Cards with hollow, cavernous 
 voices, as if slowly awakening from an age-long
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 99 
 
 dream, said together : " Ich-cha! And pray who is 
 Ich-cha? " 
 
 They could not understand who Ichcha was then, 
 but the whole island was to understand it by-and-by. 
 
 The first glimmer of light passed the threshold 
 of their minds when they found out, through watch- 
 ing the actions of the Prince, that they might move 
 in a straight line in an opposite direction from the 
 one in which they had always gone before. Then 
 they made another startling discovery, that there 
 was another side to the Cards which they had never 
 yet noticed with attention. This was the beginning 
 of the change. 
 
 Now that the change had begun, the Three Com- 
 panions were able to initiate them more and more 
 deeply into the mysteries of Ichcha. The Cards 
 gradually became aware that life was not bound by 
 regulations. They began to feel a secret satisfac- 
 tion in the kingly power of choosing for themselves. 
 
 But with this first impact of Ichcha the whole pack 
 of cards began to totter slowly, and then tumble 
 down to the ground. The scene was like that of 
 some huge python awaking from a long sleep, as it 
 slowly unfolds its numberless coils with a quiver that 
 runs through its whole frame.
 
 ioo THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 
 
 v 
 
 Hitherto the Queens of Spades and Clubs and 
 Diamonds and Hearts had remained behind curtains 
 with eyes that gazed vacantly into space, or else re- 
 mained fixed upon the ground. 
 
 And now, all of a sudden, on an afternoon in 
 spring the Queen of Hearts from the balcony raised 
 her dark eyebrows for a moment, and cast a single 
 glance upon the Prince from the corner of her eye. 
 
 " Great God," cried the Prince, " I thought they 
 were all painted images. But I am wrong. They 
 are women after all." 
 
 Then the young Prince called to his side his two 
 Companions, and said in a meditative voice: " My 
 comrades ! There is a charm about these ladies 
 that I never noticed before. When I saw that 
 glance of the Queen's dark, luminous eyes, bright- 
 ening with new emotion, it seemed to me like the 
 first faint streak of dawn in a newly created world." 
 
 The two Companions smiled a knowing smile, and 
 said: " Is that really so, Prince? " 
 
 And the poor Queen of Hearts from that day 
 went from bad to worse. She began to forget all 
 rules in a truly scandalous manner. If, for instance,
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 101 
 
 her place in the row was beside the Knave, she sud- 
 denly found herself quite accidentally standing be- 
 side the Prince instead. At this, the Knave, with 
 motionless face and solemn voice, would say: 
 " Queen, you have made a mistake." 
 
 And the poor Queen of Hearts' red cheeks would 
 get redder than ever. But the Prince would come 
 gallantly to her rescue and say: "No! There is 
 no mistake. From to-day I am going to be 
 Knave!" 
 
 Now it came to pass that, while every one was 
 trying to correct the improprieties of the guilty 
 Queen of Hearts, they began to make mistakes them- 
 selves. The Aces found themselves elbowed out 
 by the Kings. The Kings got muddled up with the 
 Knaves. The Nines and Tens assumed airs as 
 though they belonged to the Great Court Cards. 
 The Twos and Threes were found secretly taking 
 the places specially reserved for the Fours and 
 Fives. Confusion had never been so confounded 
 before. 
 
 Many spring seasons had come and gone in that 
 Island of Cards. The Kokil, the bird of Spring, 
 had sung its song year after year. But it had never 
 stirred the blood as it stirred it now. In days gone
 
 102 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 
 
 by the sea had sung its tireless melody. But, then, 
 it had proclaimed only the inflexible monotony of 
 the Rule. And suddenly its waves were telling, 
 through all their flashing light and luminous shade 
 and myriad voices, the deepest yearnings of the 
 heart of love ! 
 
 VI 
 
 Where are vanished now their prim, round, reg- 
 ular, complacent features? Here is a face full of 
 love-sick longing. Here is a heart beating wild 
 with regrets. Here is a mind racked sore with 
 doubts. Music and sighing, and smiles and tears, 
 are filling the air. Life is throbbing; hearts are 
 breaking; passions are kindling. 
 
 Every one is now thinking of his own appearance, 
 and comparing himself with others. The Ace of 
 Clubs is musing to himself, that the King of Spades 
 may be just passably good-looking. " But," says 
 he, " when I walk down the street you have only 
 to see how people's eyes turn towards me." The 
 King of Spades is saying: "Why on earth is that 
 Ace of Clubs always straining his neck and strutting 
 about like a peacock? He imagines all the Queens 
 are dying of love for him, while the real fact
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 103 
 
 is " Here he pauses, and examines his face in 
 
 the glass. 
 
 But the Queens were the worst of all. They 
 began to spend all their time in dressing themselves 
 up to the Nines. And the Nines would become their 
 hopeless and abject slaves. But their cutting re- 
 marks about one another were more shocking still. 
 
 So the young men would sit listless on the leaves 
 under the trees, lolling with outstretched limbs in 
 the forest shade. And the young maidens, dressed 
 in pale-blue robes, would come walking accidentally 
 to the same shade of the same forest by the same 
 trees, and turn their eyes as though they saw no one 
 there, and look as though they came out to see 
 nothing at all. And then one young man more for- 
 ward than the rest in a fit of madness would dare to 
 go near to a maiden in blue. But, as he drew near, 
 speech would forsake him. He would stand there 
 tongue-tied and foolish, and the favourable moment 
 would pass. 
 
 The Kokil birds were singing in the boughs over- 
 head. The mischievous South wind was blowing; 
 it disarrayed the hair, it whispered in the ear, and 
 stirred the music in the blood. The leaves of the 
 trees were murmuring with rustling delight. And
 
 104 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 
 
 the ceaseless sound of the ocean made all the mute 
 longings of the heart of man and maid surge back- 
 wards and forwards on the full springtide of love. 
 The Three Companions had brought into the 
 dried-up channels of the Kingdom of Cards the full 
 flood-tide of a new life. 
 
 And, though the tide was full, there was a pause 
 as though the rising waters would not break into 
 foam but remain suspended for ever. There were 
 no outspoken words, only a cautious going forward 
 one step and receding two. All seemed busy heap- 
 ing up their unfulfilled desires like castles in the air, 
 or fortresses of sand. They were pale and speech- 
 less, their eyes were burning, their lips trembling 
 with unspoken secrets. 
 
 The Prince saw what was wrong. He summoned 
 every one on the Island and said: " Bring hither 
 the flutes and the cymbals, the pipes and drums. Let 
 all be played together, and raise loud shouts of re- 
 joicing. For the Queen of Hearts this very night is 
 going to choose her Mate ! " 
 
 So the Tens and Nines began to blow on their
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 105 
 
 flutes and pipes; the Eights and Sevens played on 
 their sackbuts and viols; and even the Twos and 
 Threes began to beat madly on their drums. 
 
 When this tumultuous gust of music came, it swept 
 away at one blast all these sighings and mopings. 
 And then what a torrent of laughter and words 
 poured forth! There were daring proposals and 
 mocking refusals, and gossip and chatter, and jests 
 and merriment. It was like the swaying and shak- 
 ing, and rustling and soughing, in a summer gale, of 
 a million leaves and branches in the depth of the 
 primeval forest. 
 
 But the Queen of Hearts, in a rose-red robe, sat 
 silent in the shadow of her secret bower, and listened 
 to the great uproarious sound of music and mirth, 
 that came floating towards her. She shut her eyes, 
 and dreamt her dream of love. And when she 
 opened them she found the Prince seated on the 
 ground before her gazing up at her face. And she 
 covered her eyes with both hands, and shrank back 
 quivering with an inward tumult of joy. 
 
 And the Prince passed the whole day alone, walk- 
 ing by the side of the surging sea. He carried in his 
 mind that startled look, that shrinking gesture of
 
 io6 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 
 
 the Queen, and his heart beat high with hope. 
 
 That night the serried, gaily-dressed ranks of 
 young men and maidens waited with smiling faces 
 at the Palace Gates. The Palace Hall was lighted 
 with fairy lamps and festooned with the flowers of 
 spring. Slowly the Queen of Hearts entered, and 
 the whole assembly rose to greet her. With a jas- 
 mine garland in her hand, she stood before the 
 Prince with downcast eyes. In her lowly bashful- 
 ness she could hardly raise the garland to the neck 
 of the Mate she had chosen. But the Prince bowed 
 his head, and the garland slipped to its place. The 
 assembly of youths and maidens had waited her 
 choice with eager, expectant hush. And when the 
 choice was made, the whole vast concourse rocked 
 and swayed with a tumult of wild delight. And the 
 sound of their shouts was heard in every part of the 
 Island, and by ships far out at sea. Never had such 
 a shout been raised in the Kingdom of Cards 
 before. 
 
 And they carried the Prince and his Bride, and 
 seated them on the throne, and crowned them then 
 and there in the Ancient Island of Cards. 
 
 And the sorrowing Mother Queen, on the far-off 
 island shore on the other side of the sea, came sail-
 
 THE KINGDOM OF CARDS 107 
 
 ing to her son's new kingdom in a ship adorned 
 with gold. 
 
 And the citizens are no longer regulated accord- 
 ing to the Rules, but are good or bad, or both, ac- 
 cording to their Ichcha.
 
 THE DEVOTEE
 
 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 i 
 
 AT a time, when my unpopularity with a part of my 
 readers had reached the nadir of its glory, and my 
 'name had become the central orb of the journals, to 
 be attended through space with a perpetual rotation 
 of revilement, I felt the necessity to retire to some 
 quiet place and endeavour to forget my own exist- 
 ence. 
 
 I have a house in the country some miles away 
 from Calcutta, where I can remain unknown and 
 unmolested. The villagers there have not, as yet, 
 come to any conclusion about me. They know I am 
 no mere holiday-maker or pleasure-seeker; for I 
 never outrage the silence of the village nights with 
 the riotous noises of the city. Nor do they regard 
 me as an ascetic, because the little acquaintance they 
 have of me carries the savour of comfort about it. 
 I am not, to them, a traveller; for, though I am a 
 vagabond by nature, my wandering through the vil- 
 lage fields is aimless. They are hardly even quite
 
 ii2 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 certain whether I am married or single; for they 
 have never seen me with my children. So, not being 
 able to classify me in any animal or vegetable king- 
 dom that they know, they have long since given me 
 up and left me stolidly alone. 
 
 But quite lately I have come to know that there 
 is one person in the village who is deeply interested 
 in me. Our acquaintance began on a sultry after- 
 noon in July. There had been rain all the morning, 
 and the air was still wet and heavy with mist, like 
 eyelids when weeping is over. 
 
 I sat lazily watching a dappled cow grazing on 
 the high bank of the river. The afternoon sun was 
 playing on her glossy hide. The simple beauty of 
 this dress of light made me wonder idly at man's 
 deliberate waste of money in setting up tailors' shops 
 to deprive his own skin of its natural clothing. 
 
 While I was thus watching and lazily musing, a 
 woman of middle age came and prostrated herself 
 before me, touching the ground with her forehead. 
 She carried in her robe some bunches of flowers, one 
 of which she offered to me with folded hands. She 
 said to me, as she offered it: " This is an offering 
 to my God." 
 
 She went away. I was so taken aback as she ut-
 
 THE DEVOTEE 113 
 
 tered these words, that I could hardly catch a glimpse 
 of her before she was gone. The whole incident 
 was entirely simple, but it left a deep impression on 
 my mind; and as I turned back once more to look at 
 the cattle in the field, the zest of life in the cow, who 
 was munching the lush grass with deep breaths, while 
 she whisked off the flies, appeared to me fraught 
 with mystery. My readers may laugh at my fool- 
 ishness, but my heart was full of adoration. I 
 offered my worship to the pure joy of living, which 
 is God's own life. Then, plucking a tender shoot 
 from the mango tree, I fed the cow with it from my 
 own hand, and as I did this I had the satisfaction 
 of having pleased my God. 
 
 The next year when I returned to the village it 
 was February. The cold season still lingered on. 
 The morning sun came into my room, and I was 
 grateful for its warmth. I was writing, when the 
 servant came to tell me that a devotee, of the Vishnu 
 cult, wanted to see me. I told him, in an absent way, 
 to bring her upstairs, and went on with my writing. 
 The Devotee came in, and bowed to me, touching 
 my feet. I found that she was the same woman 
 whom I had met, for a brief moment, a year ago. 
 
 I was able now to examine her more closely. She
 
 n 4 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 was past that age when one asks the question whether 
 a woman is beautiful or not. Her stature was above 
 the ordinary height, and she was strongly built; but 
 her body was slightly bent owing to her constant 
 attitude of veneration. Her manner had nothing 
 shrinking about it. The most remarkable of her 
 features were her two eyes. They seemed to have 
 a penetrating power which could make distance near. 
 
 With those two large eyes of hers, she seemed to 
 push me as she entered. 
 
 "What is this?" she asked. "Why have you 
 brought me here before your throne, my God? I 
 used to see you among the trees; and that was much 
 better. That was the true place to meet you." 
 
 She must have seen me walking in the garden 
 without my seeing her. For the last few days, how- 
 ever, I had suffered from a cold, and had been pre- 
 vented from going out. I had, perforce, to stay 
 indoors and pay my homage to the evening sky from 
 my terrace. After a silent pause the Devotee said 
 to me : " O my God, give me some words of good." 
 
 I was quite unprepared for this abrupt request, 
 and answered her on the spur of the moment: 
 " Good words I neither give nor receive. I simply 
 open my eyes and keep silence, and then I can at once
 
 THE DEVOTEE 115 
 
 both hear and see, even when no sound is uttered. 
 Now, while I am looking at you, it is as good as lis- 
 tening to your voice." 
 
 The Devotee became quite excited as I spoke, and 
 exclaimed: " God speaks to me, not only with His 
 mouth, but with His whole body." 
 
 I said to her: "When I am silent I can listen 
 with my whole body. I have come away from Cal- 
 cutta here to listen to that sound." 
 
 The Devotee said: "Yes, I know that, and 
 therefore I have come here to sit by you." 
 
 Before taking her leave, she again bowed to me, 
 and touched my feet. I could see that she was dis- 
 tressed, because my feet were covered. She wished 
 them to be bare. 
 
 Early next morning I came out, and sat on my 
 terrace on the roof. Beyond the line of trees south- 
 ward I could see the open country chill and desolate. 
 I could watch the sun rising over the sugar-cane in 
 the East, beyond the clump of trees at the side of 
 the village. Out of the deep shadow of those dark 
 trees the village road suddenly appeared. It 
 stretched forward, winding its way to some distant 
 villages on the horizon, till it was lost in the grey of 
 the mist.
 
 n6 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 That morning it was difficult to say whether the 
 sun had risen or not. A white fog was still clinging 
 to the tops of the trees. I saw the Devotee walk- 
 ing through the blurred dawn, like a mist-wraith of 
 the morning twilight. She was singing her chant to 
 God, and sounding her cymbals. 
 
 The thick haze lifted at last; and the sun, like the 
 kindly grandsire of the village, took his seat amid 
 all the work that was going on in home and field. 
 
 When I had just settled down at my writing-table, 
 to appease the hungry appetite of my editor in Cal- 
 cutta, there came a sound of footsteps on the stair, 
 and the Devotee, humming a tune to herself, entered, 
 and bowed before me. I lifted my head from my 
 papers. 
 
 She said to me: " My God, yesterday I took as 
 sacred food what was left over from your meal." 
 
 I was startled, and asked her how she could do 
 that. 
 
 " Oh," she said, " I waited at your door in the 
 evening, while you were at dinner, and took some 
 food from your plate when it was carried out." 
 
 This was a surprise to me, for every one in the 
 village knew that I had been to Europe, and had 
 eaten with Europeans. I was a vegetarian, no
 
 THE DEVOTEE 117 
 
 doubt, but the sanctity of my cook would not bear 
 investigation, and the orthodox regarded my food 
 as polluted. 
 
 The Devotee, noticing my sign of surprise, said: 
 " My God, why should I come to you at all, if I 
 could not take your food? " 
 
 I asked her what her own caste people would say. 
 She told me she had already spread the news far 
 and wide all over the village. The caste people had 
 shaken their heads, but agreed that she must go her 
 own way. 
 
 I found out that the Devotee came from a good 
 family in the country, and that her mother was well- 
 to-do, and desired to keep her daughter. But she 
 preferred to be a mendicant. I asked her how she 
 made her living. She told me that her followers 
 had given her a piece of land, and that she begged 
 her food from door to door. She said to me: 
 " The food which I get by begging is divine." 
 
 After I had thought over what she said, I under- 
 stood her meaning. When we get our food pre- 
 cariously as alms, we remember God the giver. But 
 when we receive our food regularly at home, as a 
 matter of course, we are apt to regard it as ours by 
 right.
 
 n8 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 I had a great desire to ask her about her husband. 
 But as she never mentioned him even indirectly, I 
 did not question her. 
 
 I found out very soon that the Devotee had no 
 respect at all for that part of the village where the 
 people of the higher castes lived. 
 
 " They never give," she said, " a single farthing 
 to God's service ; and yet they have the largest share 
 of God's glebe. But the poor worship and starve." 
 
 I asked her why she did not go and live among 
 these godless people, and help them towards a better 
 life. " That," I said with some unction, " would be 
 the highest form of divine worship." 
 
 I had heard sermons of this kind from time to 
 time, and I am rather fond of copying them myself 
 for the public benefit, when the chance comes. 
 
 But the Devotee was not at all impressed. She 
 raised her big round eyes, and looked straight into 
 mine, and said: 
 
 " You mean to say that because God is with the 
 sinners, therefore when you do them any service you 
 do it to God? Is that so? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied, " that is my meaning." 
 
 " Of course," she answered almost impatiently, 
 " of course, God is with them : otherwise, how could
 
 THE DEVOTEE 119 
 
 they go on living at all? But what is that to me? 
 My God is not there. My God cannot be wor- 
 shipped among them; because I do not find Him 
 there. I seek Him where I can find Him." 
 
 As she spoke, she made obeisance to me. What 
 she meant to say was really this. A mere doctrine 
 of God's omnipresence does not help us. That God 
 is all-pervading, this truth may be a mere intangi- 
 ble abstraction, and therefore unreal to ourselves. 
 Where I can see Him, there is His reality in my soul. 
 
 I need not explain that all the while she showered 
 her devotion on me she did it to me not as an indi- 
 vidual. I was simply a vehicle of her divine wor- 
 ship. It was not for me either to receive it or to 
 refuse it: for it was not mine, but God's. 
 
 When the Devotee came again, she found me once 
 more engaged with my books and papers. 
 
 " What have you been doing," she said, with evi- 
 dent vexation, " that my God should make you under- 
 take such drudgery? Whenever I come, I find you 
 reading and writing." 
 
 " God keeps his useless people busy," I answered; 
 " otherwise they would be bound to get into mis- 
 chief. They have to do all the least necessary 
 things in life. It keeps them out of trouble."
 
 120 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 The Devotee told me that she could not bear the 
 encumbrances, with which, day by day, I was sur- 
 rounded. If she wanted to see me, she was not al- 
 lowed by the servants to come straight upstairs. If 
 she wanted to touch my feet in worship, there were 
 my socks always in the way. And when she wanted 
 to have a simple talk with me, she found my mind 
 lost in a wilderness of letters. 
 
 This time, before she left me, she folded her 
 hands, and said: "My God! I felt your feet in 
 my breast this morning. Oh, how cool ! And they 
 were bare, not covered. I held them upon my head 
 for a long time in worship. That filled my very 
 being. Then, after that, pray what was the use of 
 my coming to you yourself? Why did I come? 
 My Lord, tell me truly, wasn't it a mere infatu- 
 ation?" 
 
 There were some flowers in my vase on the table. 
 While she was there, the gardener brought some 
 new flowers to put in their place. The Devotee saw 
 him changing them. 
 
 " Is that all? " she exclaimed. " Have you done 
 with the flowers? Then give them to me." 
 
 She held the flowers tenderly in the cup of her 
 hands, and began to gaze at them with bent head.
 
 THE DEVOTEE 121 
 
 After a few moments' silence she raised her head 
 again, and said to me: " You never look at these 
 flowers; therefore they become stale to you. If you 
 would only look into them, then your reading and 
 writing would go to the winds." 
 
 She tied the flowers together in the end of her 
 robe, and placed them, in an attitude of worship, on 
 the top of her head, saying reverently: " Let me 
 carry my God with me." 
 
 While she did this, I felt that flowers in our rooms 
 do not receive their due meed of loving care at our 
 hands. When we stick them in vases, they are more 
 like a row of naughty schoolboys standing on a form 
 to be punished. 
 
 The Devotee came again the same evening, and 
 sat by my feet on the terrace of the roof. 
 
 " I gave away those flowers," she said, " as I went 
 from house to house this morning, singing God's 
 name. Beni, the head man of our village, laughed 
 at me for my devotion, and said : ' Why do you 
 waste all this devotion on Him? Don't you know 
 He is reviled up and down the countryside?' Is 
 that true, my God? Is it true that they are hard 
 upon you? " 
 
 For a moment I shrank into myself. It was a
 
 122 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 shock to find that the stains of printers' ink could 
 reach so far. 
 
 The Devotee went on: " Beni imagined that he 
 could blow out the flame of my devotion at one 
 breath ! But this is no mere tiny flame : it is a burn- 
 ing fire. Why do they abuse you, my God? " 
 
 I said: " Because I deserved it. I suppose in my 
 greed I was loitering about to steal people's hearts 
 in secret." 
 
 The Devotee said: "Now you see for yourself 
 how little their hearts are worth. They are full of 
 poison, and this will cure you of your greed." 
 
 ' When a man," I answered, " has greed in his 
 heart, he is always on the verge of being beaten. 
 The greed itself supplies his enemies with poison." 
 
 " Our merciful God," she replied, " beats us with 
 His own hand, and drives away all the poison. He 
 who endures God's beating to the end is saved." 
 
 II 
 
 That evening the Devotee told me the story 
 of her life. The stars of evening rose and set 
 behind the trees, as she went on to the end of her 
 tale. 
 
 " My husband is very simple. Some people think
 
 THE DEVOTEE 123 
 
 that he is a simpleton; but I know that those who 
 understand simply, understand truly. In business 
 and household management he was able to hold his 
 own. Because his needs were small, and his wants 
 few, he could manage carefully on what we had. 
 He would never meddle in other matters, nor try 
 to understand them. 
 
 " Both my husband's parents died before we had 
 been married long, and we were left alone. But 
 my husband always needed some one to be over him. 
 I am ashamed to confess that he had a sort of 
 reverence for me, and looked upon me as his su- 
 perior. But I am sure that he could understand 
 things better than I, though I had greater powers 
 of talking. 
 
 " Of all the people in the world he held his Guru 
 Thakur (spiritual master) in the highest veneration. 
 Indeed it was not veneration merely but love; and 
 such love as his is rare. 
 
 " Guru Thakur was younger than my husband. 
 Oh ! how beautiful he was ! 
 
 " My husband had played games with him when 
 he was a boy; and from that time forward he had 
 dedicated his heart and soul to this friend of his 
 early days. Thakur knew how simple my husband 
 was, and used to tease him mercilessly.
 
 i2 4 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 " He and his comrades would play jokes upon 
 him for their own amusement; but he would bear 
 them all with longsuffering. 
 
 " When I married into this family, Guru Thakur 
 was studying at Benares. My husband used to pay 
 all his expenses. I was eighteen years old when he 
 returned home to our village. 
 
 " At the age of fifteen I had my child. I was 
 so young I did not know how to' take care of him. 
 I was fond of gossip, and liked to be with my village 
 friends for hours together. I used to get quite 
 cross with my boy when I was compelled to stay at 
 home and nurse him. Alas ! my child-God came 
 into my life, but His playthings were not ready for 
 Him. He came to the mother's heart, but the 
 mother's heart lagged behind. He left me in anger; 
 and ever since I have been searching for Him up 
 and down the world. 
 
 " The boy was the joy of his father's life. My 
 careless neglect used to pain my husband. But his 
 was a mute soul. He has never been able to give 
 expression to his pain. 
 
 " The wonderful thing was this, that in spite of 
 my neglect the child used to love me more than any 
 one else. He seemed to have the dread that I
 
 THE DEVOTEE 125 
 
 would one day go away and leave him. So even 
 when I was with him, he would watch me with a 
 restless look in his eyes. He had me very little to 
 himself, and therefore his desire to be with me was 
 always painfully eager. When I went each day to 
 the river, he used to fret and stretch out his little 
 arms to be taken with me. But the bathing ghat 
 was my place for meeting my friends, and I did not 
 care to burden myself with the child. 
 
 " It was an early morning in August. Fold after 
 fold of grey clouds had wrapped the mid-day round 
 with a wet clinging robe. I asked the maid to take 
 care of the boy, while I went down to the river. 
 The child cried after me as I went away. 
 
 " There was no one there at the bathing ghat 
 when I arrived. As a swimmer, I was the best 
 among all the village women. The river was quite 
 full with the rains. I swam out into the middle of 
 the stream some distance from the shore. 
 
 " Then I heard a cry from the bank, ' Mother I ' 
 I turned my head and saw my boy coming down 
 the steps, calling me as he came. I shouted to him 
 to stop, but he went on, laughing and calling. My 
 feet and hands became cramped with fear. I shut 
 my eyes, afraid to see. When I opened them, there,
 
 126 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 at the slippery stairs, my boy's ripple of laughter 
 had disappeared for ever. 
 
 " I got back to the shore. I raised him from 
 the water. I took him in my arms, my boy, my 
 darling, who had begged so often in vain for me to 
 take him. I took him now, but he no more looked 
 in my eyes and called ' Mother.' 
 
 " My child-God had come. I had ever neglected 
 Him. I had ever made Him cry. And now all 
 that neglect began to beat against my own heart, 
 blow upon blow, blow upon blow. When my boy 
 was with me, I had left him alone. I had refused 
 to take him with me. And now, when he is dead, 
 his memory clings to me and never leaves me. 
 
 " God alone knows all that my husband suffered. 
 If he had only punished me for my sin, it would have 
 been better for us both. But he knew only how 
 to endure in silence, not how to speak. 
 
 " When I was almost mad with grief, Guru 
 Thakur came back. In earlier days, the relation 
 between him and my husband had been that of 
 boyish friendship. Now, my husband's reverence 
 for his sanctity and learning was unbounded. He 
 could hardly speak in his presence, his awe of him 
 was so great.
 
 THE DEVOTEE 127 
 
 " My husband asked his Guru to try to give me 
 some consolation. Guru Thakur began to read 
 and explain to me the scriptures. But I do not 
 think they had much effect on my mind. All their 
 value for me lay in the voice that uttered them. 
 God makes the draught of divine life deepest in the 
 heart for man to drink, through the human voice. 
 He has no better vessel in His hand than that; and 
 He Himself drinks His divine draught out of the 
 same vessel. 
 
 " My husband's love and veneration for his Guru 
 filled our house, as incense fills a temple shrine. I 
 showed that veneration, and had peace. I saw my 
 God in the form of that Guru. He used to come 
 to take his meal at our house every morning. The 
 first thought that would come to my mind on waking 
 from sleep was that of his food as a sacred gift from 
 God. When I prepared the things for his meal, 
 my fingers would sing for joy. 
 
 '' When my husband saw my devotion to his Guru, 
 his respect for me greatly increased. He noticed 
 his Guru's eager desire to explain the scriptures to 
 me. He used to think that he could never expect to 
 earn any regard from his Guru himself, on account 
 of his stupidity; but his wife had made up for it.
 
 128 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 " Thus another five years went by happily, and 
 my whole life would have passed like that; but be- 
 neath the surface some stealing was going on some- 
 where in secret I could not detect it; but it was 
 detected by the God of my heart. Then came a 
 day when, in a moment our whole life was turned 
 upside down. 
 
 " It was a morning in midsummer. I was return- 
 ing home from bathing, my clothes all wet, down 
 a shady lane. At the bend of the road, under the 
 mango tree, I met my Guru Thakur. He had his 
 towel on his shoulder and was repeating some San- 
 skrit verses as he was going to take his bath. With 
 my wet clothes clinging all about me I was ashamed 
 to meet him. I tried to pass by quickly, and avoid 
 being seen. He called me by my name. 
 
 " I stopped, lowering my eyes, shrinking into my- 
 self. He fixed his gaze upon me, and said: ' How 
 beautiful is your body ! ' 
 
 " All the universe of birds seemed to break into 
 song in the branches overhead. All the bushes in 
 the lane seemed ablaze with flowers. It was as 
 though the earth and sky and everything had become 
 a riot of intoxicating joy. 
 
 " I cannot tell how I got home. I only remember
 
 THE DEVOTEE 129 
 
 that I rushed into the room where we worship God. 
 But the room seemed empty. Only before my eyes 
 those same gold spangles of light were dancing which 
 had quivered in front of me in that shady lane on 
 my way back from the river. 
 
 " Guru Thakur came to take his food that day, 
 and asked my husband, where I had gone. He 
 searched for me, but could not find me anywhere. 
 
 " Ah ! I have not the same earth now any longer. 
 The same sunlight is not mine. I called on my 
 God in my dismay, and He kept His face turned 
 away from me. 
 
 " The day passed, I know not how. That night 
 I had to meet my husband. But the night is dark 
 and silent. It is the time when my husband's mind 
 comes out shining, like stars at twilight. I had 
 heard him speak things in the dark, and I had been 
 surprised to find how deeply he understood. 
 
 " Sometimes I am late in the evening in going 
 to rest on account of household work. My husband 
 waits for me, seated on the floor, without going to 
 bed. Our talk at such times had often begun with 
 something about our Guru. 
 
 " That night, when it was past midnight, I came 
 to my room, and found my husband sleeping on the
 
 130 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 floor. Without disturbing him I lay down on the 
 ground at his feet, my head towards him. Once 
 he stretched his feet, while sleeping, and struck me 
 on the breast. That was his last bequest. 
 
 44 Next morning, when my husband woke up from 
 his sleep, I was already sitting by him. Outside the 
 window, over the thick foliage of the jack-fruit tree, 
 appeared the first pale red of the dawn at the fringe 
 of the night. It was so early that the crows had not 
 yet begun to call. 
 
 44 I bowed, and touched my husband's feet with 
 my forehead. He sat up, starting as if waking 
 from a dream, and looked at my face in amazement. 
 I said: 
 
 a 4 I have made up my mind. I must leave the 
 world. I cannot belong to you any longer. I must 
 leave your home.' 
 
 44 Perhaps my husband thought that he was still 
 dreaming. He said not a word. 
 
 u 'Ah! do hear me!' I pleaded with infinite 
 pain. 4 Do hear me and understand! You must 
 marry another wife. I must take my leave.' 
 
 4 ' My husband said: 4 What is all this wild, mad 
 talk? Who advises you to leave the world?' 
 
 "I said: 'My Guru Thakur.'
 
 THE DEVOTEE 131 
 
 " My husband looked bewildered. * Guru Tha- 
 kur ! ' he cried. * When did he give you this 
 advice? ' 
 
 " ' In the morning,' I answered, ' yesterday, when 
 I met him on my way back from the river.' 
 
 " His voice trembled a little. He turned, and 
 looked in my face, and asked me : ' Why did he 
 give you such a behest? ' 
 
 " ' I do not know,' I answered. * Ask him! He 
 will tell you himself, if he can.' 
 
 " My husband said: ' It is possible to leave the 
 world, even when continuing to live in it. You need 
 not leave my home. I will speak to my Guru about 
 it.' 
 
 " ' Your Guru,' I said, ' may accept your petition; 
 but my heart will never give its consent. I must 
 leave your home. From henceforth, the world is 
 no more to me.' 
 
 " My husband remained silent, and we sat there 
 on the floor in the dark. When it was light, he 
 said to me: ' Let us both come to him.' 
 
 " I folded my hands and said: ' I shall never meet 
 him again.' 
 
 " He looked into my face. I lowered my eyes. 
 He said no more. I knew that, somehow, he had
 
 132 THE DEVOTEE 
 
 seen into my mind, and understood what was there. 
 In this world of mine, there were only two who 
 loved me best my boy and my husband. That 
 love was my God, and therefore it could brook no 
 falsehood. One of these two left me, and I left 
 the other. Now I must have truth, and truth 
 alone." 
 
 She touched the ground at my feet, rose and 
 bowed to me, and departed.
 
 VISION
 
 VISION 
 
 WHEN I was a very young wife, I gave birth to 
 a dead child, and came near to death myself. I 
 recovered strength very slowly, and my eyesight 
 became weaker and weaker. 
 
 My husband at this time was studying medicine. 
 He was not altogether sorry to have a chance of 
 testing his medical knowledge on me. So he began 
 to treat my eyes himself. 
 
 My elder brother was reading for his law exam- 
 ination. One day he came to see me, and was 
 alarmed at my condition. 
 
 " What are you doing? " he said to my husband. 
 ' You are ruining Kumo's eyes. You ought to con- 
 sult a good doctor at once." 
 
 My husband said irritably: "Why! what can a 
 good doctor do more than I am doing? The case 
 is quite a simple one, and the remedies are all well 
 known."
 
 136 VISION 
 
 Dada answered with scorn: u I suppose you think 
 there is no difference between you and a Professor 
 in your own Medical College." 
 
 My husband replied angrily: " If you ever get 
 married, and there is a dispute about your wife's 
 property, you won't take my advice about Law. 
 Why, then, do you now come advising me about 
 Medicine?" 
 
 While they were quarrelling, I was saying to my- 
 self that it was always the poor grass that suffered 
 most when two kings went to war. Here was a 
 dispute going on between these two, and I had to 
 bear the brunt of it. 
 
 It also seemed to me very unfair that, when my 
 family had given me in marriage, they should inter- 
 fere afterwards. After all, my pleasure and pain 
 are my husband's concern, not theirs. 
 
 From that day forward, merely over this trifling 
 matter of my eyes, the bond between my husband 
 and Dada was strained. 
 
 To my surprise one afternoon, while my husband 
 was away, Dada brought a doctor in to see me. 
 He examined my eyes very carefully, and looked 
 grave. He said that further neglect would be 
 dangerous. He wrote out a prescription, and Dada
 
 VISION 137 
 
 sent for the medicine at once. When the strange 
 doctor had gone, I implored my Dada not to inter- 
 fere. I was sure that only evil would come from 
 the stealthy visits of a doctor. 
 
 I was surprised at myself for plucking up courage 
 to speak to my brother like that. I had always 
 hitherto been afraid of him. I am sure also that 
 Dada was surprised at my boldness. He kept 
 silence for a while, and then said to me : " Very well, 
 Kumo. I won't call in the doctor any more. But 
 when the medicine comes you must take it." 
 
 Dada then went away. The medicine came from 
 the chemist. I took it bottles, powders, pre- 
 scriptions and all and threw it down the well ! 
 
 My husband had been irritated by Dada's inter- 
 ference, and he began to treat my eyes with greater 
 diligence than ever. He tried all sorts of remedies. 
 I bandaged my eyes as he told me, I wore his col- 
 oured glasses, I put in his drops, I took all his 
 powders. I even drank the cod-liver oil he gave 
 me, though my gorge rose against it. 
 
 Each time he came back from the hospital, he 
 would ask me anxiously how I felt; and I would 
 answer: "Oh! much better." Indeed I became an 
 expert in self-delusion. When I found that the
 
 i 3 8 VISION 
 
 water in my eyes was still increasing, I would console 
 myself with the thought that it was a good thing to 
 get rid of so much bad fluid; and, when the flow 
 of water in my eyes decreased, I was elated at my 
 husband's skill. 
 
 But after a while the agony became unbearable. 
 My eyesight faded away, and I had continual head- 
 aches day and night. I saw how much alarmed my 
 husband was getting. I gathered from his manner 
 that he was casting about for a pretext to call in a 
 doctor. So I hinted that it might be as well to call 
 one in. 
 
 That he was greatly relieved, I could see. He 
 called in an English doctor that very day. I do not 
 know what talk they had together, but I gathered that 
 the Sahib had spoken very sharply to my husband. 
 
 He remained silent for some time after the doctor 
 had gone. I took his hands in mine, and said: 
 "What an ill-mannered brute that was! Why 
 didn't you call in an Indian doctor? That would 
 have been much better. Do you think that man 
 knows better than you do about my eyes? " 
 
 My husband was very silent for a moment, and 
 then said with a broken voice: " Kumo, your eyes 
 must be operated on."
 
 VISION 139 
 
 I pretended to be vexed with him for concealing 
 the fact from me so long. 
 
 " Here you have known this all the time," said 
 I, "and yet you have said nothing about it! Do 
 you think I am such a baby as to be afraid of an 
 operation? " 
 
 At that he regained his good spirits : " There are 
 very few men," said he, " who are heroic enough 
 to look forward to an operation without shrinking." 
 
 I laughed at him: "Yes, that is so. Men are 
 heroic only before their wives ! " 
 
 He looked at me gravely, and said: "You are 
 perfectly right. We men are dreadfully vain." 
 
 I laughed away his seriousness : " Are you sure 
 you can beat us women even in vanity? " 
 
 When Dada came, I took him aside: " Dada, that 
 treatment your doctor recommended would have 
 done me a world of good; only unfortunately I mis- 
 took the mixture for the lotion. And since the day 
 I made the mistake, my eyes have grown steadily 
 worse; and now an operation is needed." 
 
 Dada said to me: "You were under your hus- 
 band's treatment, and that is why I gave up coming 
 to visit you." 
 
 " No," I answered. " In reality, I was secretly
 
 1 40 VISION 
 
 treating myself in accordance with your doctor's 
 directions." 
 
 Oh ! what lies we women have to tell ! When we 
 are mothers, we tell lies to pacify our children; and 
 when we are wives, we tell lies to pacify the fathers 
 of our children. We are never free from this 
 necessity. 
 
 My deception had the effect of bringing about 
 a better feeling between my husband and Dada. 
 Dada blamed himself for asking me to keep a secret 
 from my husband: and my husband regretted that 
 he had not taken my brother's advice at the first. 
 
 At last, with the consent of both, an English doc- 
 tor came, and operated on my left eye. That eye, 
 however, was too weak to bear the strain; and the 
 last flickering glimmer of light went out. Then the 
 other eye gradually lost itself in darkness. 
 
 One day my husband came to my bedside. ' I 
 cannot brazen it out before you any longer," said 
 he, " Kumo, it is I who have ruined your eyes." 
 
 I felt that his voice was choking with tears, and so 
 I took up his right hand in both of mine and said: 
 " Why ! you did exactly what was right. You have 
 dealt only with that which was your very own. 
 Just imagine, if some strange doctor had come and
 
 VISION 141 
 
 taken away my eyesight. What consolation should 
 I have had then? But now I can feel that all has 
 happened for the best; and my great comfort is to 
 know that it is at your hands I have lost my eyes. 
 When Ramchandra found one lotus too few with 
 which to worship God, he offered both his eyes in 
 place of the lotus. And I have dedicated my eyes 
 to my God. From now, whenever you see some- 
 thing that is a joy to you, then you must describe 
 it to me ; and I will feed upon your words as a sacred 
 gift left over from your vision." 
 
 I do not mean, of course, that I said all this there 
 and then, for it is impossible to speak these things 
 on the spur of the moment. But I used to think 
 over words like these for days and days together. 
 And when I was very depressed, or if at any time 
 the light of my devotion became dim, and I pitied 
 my evil fate, then I made my mind utter these sen- 
 tences, one by one, as a child repeats a story that is 
 told. And so I could breathe once more the 
 serener air of peace and love. 
 
 At the very time of our talk together, I said 
 enough to show my husband what was in my heart. 
 
 " Kumo," he said to me, " the mischief I have 
 done by my folly can never be made good. But I
 
 H2 VISION 
 
 can do one thing. I can ever remain by your side, 
 and try to make up for your want of vision as much 
 as is in my power." 
 
 " No," said I. " That will never do. I shall 
 not ask you to turn your house into an hospital for 
 the blind. There is only one thing to be done, 
 you must marry again." 
 
 As I tried to explain to him that this was neces- 
 sary, my voice broke a little. I coughed, and tried 
 to hide my emotion, but he burst out saying: 
 
 " Kumo, I know I am a fool, and a braggart, and 
 all that, but I am not a villain! If ever I marry 
 again, I swear to you I swear to you the most 
 solemn oath by my family god, Gopinath may 
 that most hated of all sins, the sin of parricide, fall 
 on my head! " 
 
 Ah! I should never, never have allowed him to 
 swear that dreadful oath. But tears were choking 
 my voice, and I could not say a word for insufferable 
 joy. I hid my blind face in my pillows, and sobbed, 
 and sobbed again. At last, when the first flood of 
 my tears was over, I drew his head down to my 
 breast. 
 
 " Ah ! " said I, " why did you take such a terrible 
 oath? Do you think I asked you to marry again
 
 VISION 143 
 
 for your own sordid pleasure ? No ! I was think- 
 ing of myself, for she could perform those services 
 which were mine to give you when I had my sight." 
 
 " Services ! " said he, " services ! Those can be 
 done by servants. Do you think I am mad enough 
 to bring a slave into my house, and bid her share 
 the throne with this my Goddess? " 
 
 As he said the word " Goddess," he held up my 
 face in his hands, and placed a kiss between my 
 brows. At that moment the third eye of divine wi&- 
 dom was opened, where he kissed me, and verily 
 I had a consecration. 
 
 I said in my own mind: " It is well. I am no 
 longer able to serve him in the lower world of house- 
 hold cares. But I shall rise to a higher region. I 
 shall bring down blessings from above. No more 
 lies ! No more deceptions for me ! All the little- 
 nesses and hypocrisies of my former life shall be 
 banished for ever! " 
 
 That day, the whole day through, I felt a con- 
 flict going on within me. The joy of the thought, 
 that after this solemn oath it was impossible for my 
 husband to marry again, fixed its roots deep in my 
 heart, and I could not tear them out. But the new 
 Goddess, who had taken her new throne in me, said :
 
 144 VISION 
 
 " The time might come when it would be good for 
 your husband to break his oath and marry again." 
 But the woman, who was within me, said: "That 
 may be; but all the same an oath is an oath, and 
 there is no way out." The Goddess, who was 
 within me, answered: " That is no reason why you 
 should exult over it." But the woman, who was 
 within me, replied: " What you say is quite true, no 
 doubt; all the same he has taken his oath." And 
 the same story went on again and again. At last 
 the Goddess frowned in silence, and the darkness of 
 a horrible fear came down upon me. 
 
 My repentant husband would not let the servants 
 do my work; he must do it all himself. At first it 
 gave me unbounded delight to be dependent on him 
 thus for every little thing. It was a means of keep- 
 ing him by my side, and my desire to have him with 
 me had become intense since my blindness. That 
 share of his presence, which my eyes had lost, my 
 other senses craved. When he was absent from my 
 side, I would feel as if I were hanging in mid-air, 
 and had lost my hold of all things tangible. 
 
 Formerly, when my husband came back late from 
 the hospital, I used to open my window and gaze 
 at the road. That road was the link which con-
 
 VISION 145 
 
 nected his world with mine. Now when I had lost 
 that link through my blindness, all my body would 
 go out to seek him. The bridge that united us had 
 given way, and there was now this unsurpassable 
 chasm. When he left my side the gulf seemed to 
 yawn wide open. I could only wait for the time 
 when he should cross back again from his own shore 
 to mine. 
 
 But such intense longing and such utter dependence 
 can never be good. A wife is a burden enough to 
 a man, in all conscience, and to add to it the burden 
 of this blindness was to make his life unbearable. 
 I vowed that I would suffer alone, and never wrap 
 my husband round in the folds of my all-pervading 
 darkness. 
 
 Within an incredibly short space of time I man- 
 aged to train myself to do all my household duties 
 by the help of touch and sound and smell. In fact 
 I soon found that I could get on with greater skill 
 than before. For sight often distracts rather than 
 helps us. And so it came to pass that, when these 
 roving eyes of mine could do their work no longer, 
 all the other senses took up their several duties with 
 quietude and completeness. 
 
 When I had gained experience by constant prac-
 
 i 4 6 VISION 
 
 tice, I would not let my husband do any more house- 
 hold duties for me. He complained bitterly at first 
 that I was depriving him of his penance. 
 
 This did not convince me. Whatever he might 
 say, I could feel that he had a real sense of relief 
 when these household duties were over. To serve 
 daily a wife who is blind can never make up the life 
 of a man. 
 
 II 
 
 My husband at last had finished his medical 
 course. He went away from Calcutta to a small 
 town to practise as a doctor. There in the country 
 I felt with joy, through all my blindness, that I was 
 restored to the arms of my mother. I had left my 
 village birthplace for Calcutta when I was eight 
 years old. Since then ten years had passed away, 
 and in the great city the memory of my village home 
 had grown dim. As long as I had eyesight, Cal- 
 cutta with its busy life screened from view the mem- 
 ory of my early days. But when I lost my eyesight 
 I knew for the first time that Calcutta allured only 
 the eyes: it could not fill the mind. And now, in 
 my blindness, the scenes of my childhood shone out 
 once more, like stars that appear one by one in the 
 evening sky at the end of the day.
 
 VISION 147 
 
 It was the beginning of November when we left 
 Calcutta for Harsingpur. The place was new to 
 me, but the scents and sounds of the countryside 
 pressed round and embraced me. The morning 
 breeze coming fresh from the newly ploughed land, 
 the sweet and tender smell of the flowering mustard, 
 the shepherd-boy's flute sounding in the distance, 
 even the creaking noise of the bullock-cart, as it 
 groaned over the broken village road, filled my 
 world with delight. The memory of my past life, 
 with all its ineffable fragrance and sound, became a 
 living present to me, and my blind eyes could not tell 
 me I was wrong. I went back, and lived over again 
 my childhood. Only one thing was absent: my 
 mother was not with me. 
 
 I could see my home with the large peepul trees 
 growing along the edge of the village pool. I could 
 picture in my mind's eye my old grandmother seated 
 on the ground with her thin wisps of hair untied, 
 warming her back in the sun as she made the little 
 round lentil balls to be dried and used for cooking. 
 But somehow I could not recall the songs she used 
 to croon to herself in her weak and quavering voice. 
 In the evening, whenever I heard the lowing of 
 cattle, I could almost watch the figure of my mother
 
 i 4 8 VISION 
 
 going round the sheds with lighted lamp in her hand. 
 The smell of the wet fodder and the pungent smoke 
 of the straw fire would enter into my very heart. 
 And in the distance I seemed to hear the clanging of 
 the temple bell wafted up by the breeze from the 
 river bank. 
 
 Calcutta, with all its turmoil and gossip, curdles 
 the heart. There, all the beautiful duties of life 
 lose their freshness and innocence. I remember one 
 day, when a friend of mine came in, and said to me: 
 " Kumo, why don't you feel angry? If I had been 
 treated like you by my husband, I would never look 
 upon his face again." 
 
 She tried to make me indignant, because he had 
 been so long calling in a doctor. 
 
 " My blindness," said I, " was itself a sufficient 
 evil. Why should I make it worse by allowing 
 hatred to grow up against my husband? " 
 
 My friend shook her head in great contempt, 
 when she heard such old-fashioned talk from the lips 
 of a mere chit of a girl. She went away in disdain. 
 But whatever might be my answer at the time, such 
 words as these left their poison; and the venom was 
 never wholly got out of the soul, when once they had 
 been uttered.
 
 VISION 149 
 
 So you see Calcutta, with its never-ending gossip, 
 does harden the heart. But when I came back to 
 the country all my earlier hopes and faiths, all that 
 I held true in life during childhood, became fresh 
 and bright once more. God came to me, and filled 
 my heart and my world. I bowed to Him, and 
 said: 
 
 " It is well that Thou has taken away my eyes. 
 Thou art with me." 
 
 Ah! But I said more than was right. It was 
 a presumption to say: "Thou art with me." All 
 we can say is this : " I must be true to Thee." Even 
 when nothing is left for us, still we have to go on 
 living. 
 
 Ill 
 
 We passed a few happy months together. My 
 husband gained some reputation in his profession 
 as a doctor. And money came with it. 
 
 But there is a mischief in money. I cannot point 
 to any one event; but, because the blind have keener 
 perceptions than other people, I could discern the 
 change which came over my husband along with the 
 increase of wealth. 
 
 He had a keen sense of justice when he was
 
 150 VISION 
 
 younger, and had often told me of his great desire 
 to help the poor when once he obtained a practice 
 of his own. He had a noble contempt for those 
 in his profession who would not feel the pulse of 
 a poor patient before collecting his fee. But now 
 I noticed a difference. He had become strangely 
 hard. Once when a poor woman came, and begged 
 him, out of charity, to save the life of her only child, 
 he bluntly refused. And when I implored him my- 
 self to help her, he did his work perfunctorily. 
 
 While we were less rich my husband disliked 
 sharp practice in money matters. He was scru- 
 pulously honourable in such things. But since he had 
 got a large account at the bank he was often closeted 
 for hours with some scamp of a landlord's agent, 
 for purposes which clearly boded no good. 
 
 Where has he drifted? What has become of this 
 husband of mine, the husband I knew before I 
 was blind; the husband who kissed me that day be- 
 tween my brows, and enshrined me on the throne of 
 a Goddess? Those whom a sudden gust of passion 
 brings down to the dust can rise up again with a 
 new strong impulse of goodness. But those who, 
 day by day, become dried up in the very fibre of their 
 moral being; those who by some outer parasitic
 
 VISION 151 
 
 growth choke the inner life by slow degrees, such 
 men reach one day a deadness which knows no 
 healing. 
 
 The separation caused by blindness is the merest 
 physical trifle. But, ah ! it suffocates me to find that 
 he is no longer with me, where he stood with me in 
 that hour when we both knew that I was blind. 
 That is a separation indeed! 
 
 I, with my love fresh and my faith unbroken, 
 have kept to the shelter of my heart's inner shrine. 
 But my husband has left the cool shade of those 
 things that are ageless and unfading. He is fast 
 disappearing into the barren, waterless waste in his 
 mad thirst for gold. 
 
 Sometimes the suspicion comes to me that things 
 are not so bad as they seem: that perhaps I exag- 
 gerate because I am blind. It may be that, if my 
 eyesight were unimpaired, I should have accepted 
 the world as I found it. This, at any rate, was the 
 light in which my husband looked at all my moods 
 and fancies. 
 
 One day an old Musalman came to the house. 
 He asked my husband to visit his little grand-daugh- 
 ter. I could hear the old man say: " Babu, I am 
 a poor man; but come with me, and Allah will do
 
 1 52 VISION 
 
 you good." My husband answered coldly: "What 
 Allah will do won't help matters; I want to know 
 what you can do for me." 
 
 When I heard it, I wondered in my mind why 
 God had not made me deaf as well as blind. The 
 old man heaved a deep sigh, and departed. I sent 
 my maid to fetch him to my room. I met him at 
 the door of the inner apartment, and put some 
 money into his hand. 
 
 " Please take this from me," said I, " for your 
 little grand-daughter, and get a trustworthy doctor 
 to look after her. And pray for my husband." 
 
 But the whole of that day I could take no food 
 at all. In the afternoon, when my husband got up 
 from sleep, he asked me : " Why do you look so 
 pale?" 
 
 I was about to say, as I used to do in the past: 
 "Oh! It's nothing"; but those days of deception 
 were over, and I spoke to him plainly. 
 
 " I have been hesitating," I said, " for days to- 
 gether to tell you something. It has been hard to 
 think out what exactly it was I wanted to say. Even 
 now I may not be able to explain what I had in my 
 mind. But I am sure you know what has happened. 
 Our lives have drifted apart."
 
 VISION 153 
 
 My husband laughed in a forced manner, and 
 said: " Change is the law of nature." 
 
 I said to him : " I know that. But there are 
 some things that are eternal." 
 
 Then he became serious. 
 
 ' There are many women," said he, " who have 
 a real cause for sorrow. There are some whose 
 husbands do not earn money. There are oth- 
 ers whose husbands do not love them. But you 
 are making yourself wretched about nothing at 
 all." 
 
 Then it became clear to me that my very blind- 
 ness had conferred on me the power of seeing a 
 world which is beyond all change. Yes ! It is true. 
 I am not like other women. And my husband will 
 never understand me. 
 
 IV 
 
 Our two lives went on with their dull routine for 
 some time. Then there was a break in the mo- 
 notony. An aunt of my husband came to pay us a 
 visit. 
 
 The first thing she blurted out after our first greet- 
 ing was this : " Well, Kumo, it's a great pity you have 
 become blind; but why do you impose your own
 
 154 VISION 
 
 affliction on your husband? You must get him to 
 marry another wife." 
 
 There was an awkward pause. If my husband 
 had only said something in jest, or laughed in her 
 face, all would have been over. But he stammered 
 and hesitated, and said at last in a nervous, stupid 
 way: " Do you really think so? Really, Aunt, you 
 shouldn't talk like that." 
 
 His aunt appealed to me. " Was I wrong, 
 Kumo?" 
 
 I laughed a hollow laugh. 
 
 " Had not you better," said I, " consult some one 
 more competent to decide? The pickpocket never 
 asks permission from the man whose pocket he is 
 going to pick." 
 
 ' You are quite right," she replied blandly. 
 " Abinash, my dear, let us have our little conference 
 in private. What do you say to that? " 
 
 After a few days my husband asked her, in my 
 presence, if she knew of any girl of a decent family 
 who could come and help me in my household work. 
 He knew quite well that I needed no help. I kept 
 silence. 
 
 " Oh! there are heaps of them," replied his aunt. 
 " My cousin has a daughter who is just of the mar-
 
 VISION 155 
 
 riageable age, and as nice a girl as you could wish. 
 Her people would be only too glad to secure you as 
 a husband." 
 
 Again there came from him that forced, hesitat- 
 ing laugh, and he said: "But I never mentioned 
 marriage." 
 
 " How could you expect," asked his aunt, " a girl 
 of decent family to come and live in your house with- 
 out marriage? " 
 
 He had to admit that this was reasonable, and 
 remained nervously silent. 
 
 I stood alone within the closed doors of my blind- 
 ness after he had gone, and called upon my God and 
 prayed: " O God, save my husband." 
 
 When I was coming out of the household shrine 
 from my morning worship a few days later, his aunt 
 took hold of both my hands warmly. 
 
 " Kumo, here is the girl," said she, " we were 
 speaking about the other day. Her name is Hem- 
 angini. She will be delighted to meet you. Hemo, 
 come here and be introduced to your sister." 
 
 My husband entered the room at the same 
 moment. He feigned surprise when he saw the 
 strange girl, and was about to retire. But his aunt 
 said: " Abinash, my dear, what are you running away
 
 156 VISION 
 
 for? There is no need to do that. Here is my 
 cousin's daughter, Hemangini, come to see you. 
 Hemo, make your bow to him." 
 
 As if taken quite by surprise, he began to ply his 
 aunt with questions about the when and why and 
 how of the new arrival. 
 
 I saw the hollowness of the whole thing, and took 
 Hemangini by the hand and led her to my own room. 
 I gently stroked her face and arms and hair, and 
 found that she was about fifteen years old, and very 
 beautiful. 
 
 As I felt her face, she suddenly burst out laughing 
 and said: "Why! what are you doing? Are you 
 hypnotising me? " 
 
 That sweet ringing laughter of hers swept away 
 in a moment all the dark clouds that stood between 
 us. I threw my right arm about her neck. 
 
 " Dear one," said I, " I am trying to see you." 
 And again I stroked her soft face with my left hand. 
 
 " Trying to see me? " she said, with a new burst 
 of laughter. " Am I like a vegetable marrow, 
 grown in your garden, that you want to feel me all 
 round to see how soft I am? " 
 
 I suddenly bethought me that she did not know 
 I had lost my sight.
 
 VISION 157 
 
 " Sister, I am blind," said I. 
 
 She was silent. I could feel her big young eyes, 
 full of curiosity, peering into my face. I knew they 
 were full of pity. Then she grew thoughtful and 
 puzzled, and said, after a short pause: 
 
 " Oh ! I see now. That was the reason your hus- 
 band invited his aunt to come and stay here." 
 
 " No ! " I replied, " you are quite mistaken. He 
 did not ask her to come. She came of her own 
 accord." 
 
 Hemangini went off into a peal of laughter. 
 " That's just like my aunt," said she. " Oh! wasn't 
 it nice of her to come without any invitation? But 
 now she's come, you won't get her to move for some 
 time, I can assure you! " 
 
 Then she paused, and looked puzzled. 
 
 "But why did father send me?" she asked. 
 " Can you tell me that? " 
 
 The aunt had come into the room while we were 
 talking. Hemangini said to her: " When are you 
 thinking of going back, Aunt? " 
 
 The aunt looked very much upset. 
 
 " What a question to ask! " said she, " I've never 
 seen such a restless body as you. We've only just 
 come, and you ask when we're going back! "
 
 158 VISION 
 
 " It is all very well for you," Hemangini said, 
 " for this house belongs to your near relations. But 
 what about me? I tell you plainly I can't stop 
 here." And then she held my hand and said: 
 " What do you think, dear? " 
 
 I drew her to my heart, but said nothing. The 
 aunt was in a great difficulty. She felt the situa- 
 tion was getting beyond her control; so she proposed 
 that she and her niece should go out together to 
 bathe. 
 
 " No ! we two will go together," said Hemangini, 
 clinging to me. The aunt gave in, fearing opposi- 
 tion if she tried to drag her away. 
 
 Going down to the river Hemangini asked me : 
 "Why don't you have children?" 
 
 I was startled by her question, and answered: 
 " How can I tell? My God has not given me any. 
 That is the reason." 
 
 " No ! That's not the reason," said Hemangini 
 quickly. ' You must have committed some sin. 
 Look at my aunt. She is childless. It must be be- 
 cause her heart has some wickedness. But what 
 wickedness is in your heart?" 
 
 The words hurt me. I have no solution to offer 
 for the problem of evil. I sighed deeply, and said
 
 VISION 159 
 
 in the silence of my soul: " My God! Thou knowest 
 the reason." 
 
 " Gracious goodness," cried Hemangini, " what 
 are you sighing for? No one ever takes me 
 seriously." 
 
 And her laughter pealed across the river. 
 
 I found out after this that there were constant 
 interruptions in my husband's professional duties. 
 He refused all calls from a distance, and would 
 hurry away from his patients, even when they were 
 close at hand. 
 
 Formerly it was only during the mid-day meals 
 and at night-time that he could come into the inner 
 apartment. But now, with unnecessary anxiety for 
 his aunt's comfort, he began to visit her at all hours 
 of the day. I knew at once that he had come to 
 her room, when I heard her shouting for Heman- 
 gini to bring in a glass of water. At first the girl 
 would do what she was told; but later on she re- 
 fused altogether. 
 
 Then the aunt would call, in an endearing voice : 
 "Hemo! Hemo! Hemangini." But the girl would 
 cling to me with an impulse of pity. A sense of
 
 160 VISION 
 
 dread and sadness would keep her silent. Some- 
 times she would shrink towards me like a hunted 
 thing, who scarcely knew what was coming. 
 
 About this time my brother came down from Cal- 
 cutta to visit me. I knew how keen his powers of 
 observation were, and what a hard judge he was. 
 I feared my husband would be put on his defence, 
 and have to stand his trial before him. So I en- 
 deavoured to hide the true situation behind a mask 
 of noisy cheerfulness. But I am afraid I overdid 
 the part: it was unnatural for me. 
 
 My husband began to fidget openly, and asked 
 how long my brother was going to stay. At last his 
 impatience became little short of insulting, and my 
 brother had no help for it but to leave. Before 
 going he placed his hand on my head, and kept it 
 there for some time. I noticed that his hand shook, 
 and a tear fell from his eyes, as he silently gave me 
 his blessing. 
 
 I well remember that it was an evening in April, 
 and a market-day. People who had come into the 
 town were going back home from market. There 
 was the feeling of an impending storm in the air; 
 the smell of the wet earth and the moisture in the 
 wind were all-pervading. I never keep a lighted
 
 VISION 161 
 
 lamp in my bedroom, when I am alone, lest my 
 clothes should catch fire, or some accident happen. 
 I sat on the floor in my dark room, and called upon 
 the God of my blind world. 
 
 " O my Lord," I cried, " Thy face is hidden. I 
 cannot see. I am blind. I hold tight this broken 
 rudder of a heart till my hands bleed. The waves 
 have become too strong for me. How long wilt 
 thou try me, my God, how long? " 
 
 I kept my head prone upon the bedstead and 
 began to sob. As I did so, I felt the bedstead move 
 a little. The next moment Hemangini was by my 
 side. She clung to my neck, and wiped my tears 
 away silently. I do not know why she had been 
 waiting that evening in the inner room, or why she 
 had been lying alone there in the dusk. She asked 
 me no question. She said no word. She simply 
 placed her cool hand on my forehead, and kissed 
 me, and departed. 
 
 The next morning Hemangini said to her aunt in 
 my presence : " If you want to stay on, you can. But 
 I don't I'm going away home with our family 
 servant." 
 
 The aunt said there was no need for her to go 
 alone, for she was going away also. Then smil-
 
 162 VISION 
 
 ingly and mincingly she brought out, from a plush 
 case, a ring set with pearls. 
 
 " Look, Hemo," said she, " what a beautiful ring 
 my Abinash brought for you." 
 
 Hemangini snatched the ring from her hand. 
 
 " Look, Aunt," she answered quickly, " just see 
 how splendidly I aim." And she flung the ring into 
 the tank outside the window. 
 
 The aunt, overwhelmed with alarm, vexation, and 
 surprise, bristled like a hedgehog. She turned to 
 me, and held me by the hand. 
 
 " Kumo," she repeated again and again, " don't 
 say a word about this childish freak to Abinash. 
 He would be fearfully vexed." 
 
 I assured her that she need not fear. Not a word 
 would reach him about it from my lips. 
 
 The next day before starting for home Heman- 
 gini embraced me, and said: " Dearest, keep me in 
 mind; do not forget me." 
 
 I stroked her face over and over with my fingers, 
 and said: "Sister, the blind have long memories." 
 
 I drew her head towards me, and kissed her hair 
 and her forehead. My world suddenly became 
 grey. All the beauty and laughter and tender youth, 
 which had nestled so close to me, vanished when
 
 VISION 163 
 
 Hemangini departed. I went groping about with 
 arms outstretched, seeking to find out what was left 
 in my deserted world. 
 
 My husband came in later. He affected a great 
 relief now that they were gone, but it was exag- 
 gerated and empty. He pretended that his aunt's 
 visit had kept him away from work. 
 
 Hitherto there had been only the one barrier of 
 blindness between me and my husband. Now an- 
 other barrier was added, this deliberate silence 
 about Hemangini. He feigned utter indifference, 
 but I knew he was having letters about her. 
 
 It was early in May. My maid entered my room 
 one morning, and asked me : " What is all this prep- 
 aration going on at the landing on the river? 
 Where is Master going? " 
 
 I knew there was something impending, but I 
 said to the maid: " I can't say." 
 
 The maid did not dare to ask me any more ques- 
 tions. She sighed, and went away. 
 
 Late that night my husband came to me. 
 
 " I have to visit a patient in the country," said 
 he. " I shall have to start very early to-morrow 
 morning, and I may have to be away for two or 
 three days."
 
 1 64 VISION 
 
 I got up from my bed. I stood before him, and 
 cried aloud: " Why are you telling me lies? " 
 
 My husband stammered out: " What what lies 
 have I told you? " 
 
 I said: " You are going to get married." 
 
 He remained silent. For some moments there 
 was no sound in the room. Then I broke the 
 silence : 
 
 " Answer me," I cried. " Say, yes." 
 
 He answered, " Yes," like a feeble echo. 
 
 I shouted out with a loud voice : " No ! I shall 
 never allow you. I shall save you from this great 
 disaster, this dreadful sin. If I fail in this, then 
 why am I your wife, and why did I ever worship 
 my God?" 
 
 The room remained still as a stone. I dropped 
 on the floor, and clung to my husband's knees. 
 
 " What have I done? " I asked. " Where have 
 I been lacking? Tell me truly. Why do you want 
 another wife? " 
 
 My husband said slowly: "I will tell you the 
 truth. I am afraid of you. Your blindness has 
 enclosed you in its fortress, and I have now no 
 entrance. To rne you are no longer a woman. 
 You are awful as my God. I cannot live my every-
 
 VISION 165 
 
 day life with you. I want a woman just an ordi- 
 nary woman whom I can be free to chide and 
 coax and pet and scold." 
 
 Oh, tear open my heart and see ! What am I else 
 but that, just an ordinary woman? I am the 
 same girl that I was when I was newly wed, a girl 
 with all her need to believe, to confide, to worship. 
 
 I do not recollect exactly the words that I uttered. 
 I only remember that I said: " If I be a true wife, 
 then, may God be my witness, you shall never do 
 this wicked deed, you shall never break your oath. 
 Before you commit such sacrilege, either I shall be- 
 come a widow, or Hemangini shall die." 
 
 Then I fell down on the floor in a swoon. When 
 I came to myself, it was still dark. The birds were 
 silent. My husband had gone. 
 
 All that day I sat at my worship in the sanctuary 
 at the household shrine. In the evening a fierce 
 storm, wfth thunder and lightning and rain, swept 
 down upon the house and shook it. As I crouched 
 before the shrine, I did not ask my God to save my 
 husband from the storm, though he must have been 
 at that time in peril on the river. I prayed that 
 whatever might happen to me, my husband might be 
 saved from this great sin.
 
 1 66 VISION 
 
 Night passed. The whole of the next day I kept 
 my seat at worship. When it was evening there 
 was the noise of shaking and beating at the door. 
 When the door was broken open, they found me 
 lying unconscious on the ground, and carried me to 
 my room. 
 
 When I came to myself at last, I heard some one 
 whispering in my ear: "Sister." 
 
 I found that I was lying in my room with my head 
 on Hemangini's lap. When my head moved, I 
 heard her dress rustle. It was the sound of bridal 
 silk. 
 
 O my God, my God! My prayer has gone un- 
 heeded! My husband has fallen! 
 
 Hemangini bent her head low, and said in a sweet 
 whisper: " Sister, dearest, I have come to ask your 
 blessing on our marriage." 
 
 At first my whole body stiffened like the trunk of 
 a tree that has been struck by lightning. Then I 
 sat up, and said, painfully, forcing myself to speak 
 the words: "Why should I not bless you? You 
 have done no wrong." 
 
 Hemangini laughed her merry laugh. 
 
 "Wrong!" said she. "When you married it 
 was right; and when I marry, you call it wrong! "
 
 VISION 167 
 
 I tried to smile in answer to her laughter. I said 
 in my mind : " My prayer is not the final thing in 
 this world. His will is all. Let the blows descend 
 upon my head ; but may they leave my faith and hope 
 in God untouched." 
 
 Hemangini bowed to me, and touched my feet. 
 " May you be happy," said I, blessing her, " and 
 enjoy unbroken prosperity." 
 
 Hemangini was still unsatisfied. 
 
 " Dearest sister," she said, " a blessing for me is 
 not enough. You must make our happiness com- 
 plete. You must, with those saintly hands of yours, 
 accept into your home my husband also. Let me 
 bring him to you." 
 
 I said: " Yes, bring him to me." 
 
 A few moments later I heard a familiar 
 footstep, and the question, " Kumo, how are 
 you?" 
 
 I started up, and bowed to the ground, and cried: 
 "Dada!" 
 
 Hemangini burst out laughing. 
 
 "You still call him elder brother?" she asked. 
 " What nonsense ! Call him younger brother now, 
 and pull his ears and tease him, for he has married 
 me, your younger sister."
 
 1 68 VISION 
 
 Then I understood. My husband had been saved 
 from that great sin. He had not fallen. 
 
 I knew my Dada had determined never to marry. 
 And, since my mother had died, there was no sacred 
 wish of hers to implore him to wedlock. But I, his 
 sister, by my sore need had brought it to pass. He 
 had married for my sake. 
 
 Tears of joy gushed from my eyes, and poured 
 down my cheeks. I tried, but I could not stop them. 
 Dada slowly passed his fingers through my hair. 
 Hemangini clung to me, and went on laughing. 
 
 I was lying awake in my bed for the best part of 
 the night, waiting with straining anxiety for my hus- 
 band's return. I could not imagine how he would 
 bear the shock of shame and disappointment. 
 
 When it was long past the hour of midnight, 
 slowly my door opened. I sat up on my bed, and 
 listened. They were the footsteps of my husband. 
 My heart began to beat wildly. He came up to my 
 bed, held my hand in his. 
 
 " Your Dada," said he, " has saved me from 
 destruction. I was being dragged down and down 
 by a moment's madness. An infatuation had seized 
 me, from which I seemed unable to escape. God 
 alone knows what a load I was carrying on that day
 
 VISION 169 
 
 when I entered the boat. The storm came down on 
 the river, and covered the sky. In the midst of all 
 my fears I had a secret wish in my heart to be 
 drowned, and so disentangle my life from the knot 
 in which I had tied it. I reached Mathurganj. 
 There I heard the news which set me free. Your 
 brother had married Hemangini. I cannot tell you 
 with what joy and shame I heard it. I hastened on 
 board the boat again. In that moment of self- 
 revelation I knew that I could have no happiness ex- 
 cept with you. You are a Goddess." 
 
 I laughed and cried at the same time, and said: 
 " No, no, no ! I am not going to be a Goddess any 
 longer. I am simply your own little wife. I am 
 just an ordinary woman." 
 
 " Dearest," he replied, " I have also something 
 I want to say to you. Never again put me to shame 
 by calling me your God." 
 
 On the next day the little town became joyous with 
 the sound of conch shells. But nobody made any 
 reference to that night of madness, when all was so 
 nearly lost.
 
 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE
 
 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 
 
 i 
 
 ONCE upon a time the Babus of Nayanjore were 
 famous landholders. They were noted for their 
 princely extravagance. They would tear off the 
 rough border of their Dacca muslin, because it 
 rubbed against their skin. They could spend many 
 thousands of rupees over the wedding of a kitten. 
 On a certain grand occasion it is alleged that in order 
 to turn night into day they lighted numberless lamps 
 and showered silver threads from the sky to imitate 
 sunlight. Those were the days before the flood. 
 The flood came. The line of succession among these 
 old-world Babus, with their lordly habits, could not 
 continue for long. Like a lamp with too many 
 wicks burning, the oil flared away quickly, and the 
 light went out. 
 
 Kailas Babu, our neighbour, is the last relic of 
 this extinct magnificence. Before he grew up, his 
 
 family had very nearly reached its lowest ebb. 
 
 173
 
 174 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 
 
 When his father died, there was one dazzling out- 
 burst of funeral extravagance, and then insolvency. 
 The property was sold to liquidate the debt. What 
 little ready money was left over was altogether in- 
 sufficient to keep up the past ancestral splendours. 
 
 Kailas Babu left Nayanjore, and came to Cal- 
 cutta. His son did not remain long in this world 
 of faded glory. He died, leaving behind him an 
 only daughter. 
 
 In Calcutta we are Kailas Babu's neighbours. 
 Curiously enough our own family history is just the 
 opposite to his. My father got his money by his 
 own exertions, and prided himself on never spend- 
 ing a penny more than was needed. His clothes 
 were those of a working man, and his hands also. 
 He never had any inclination to earn the title of 
 Babu by extravagant display, and I myself his only 
 son, owe him gratitude for that. He gave me the 
 very best education, and I was able to make my way 
 in the world. I am not ashamed of the fact that I 
 am a self-made man. Crisp bank-notes in my safe 
 are dearer to me than a long pedigree in an empty 
 family chest. 
 
 I believe this was why I disliked seeing Kailas 
 Babu drawing his heavy cheques on the public credit
 
 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 175 
 
 from the bankrupt bank of his ancient Babu reputa- 
 tion. I used to fancy that he looked down on me, 
 because my father had earned money with his own 
 hands. 
 
 I ought to have noticed that no one showed any 
 vexation towards Kailas Babu except myself. In- 
 deed it would have been difficult to find an old man 
 who did less harm than he. He was always ready 
 with his kindly little acts of courtesy in times of 
 sorrow and joy. He would join in all the cere- 
 monies and religious observances of his neighbours. 
 His familiar smile would greet young and old alike. 
 His politeness in asking details about domestic af- 
 fairs was untiring. The friends who met him in 
 the street were perforce ready to be button-holed, 
 while a long string of questions of this kind followed 
 one another from his lips: 
 
 " My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Are 
 you quite well? How is Shashi? and Dada is 
 he all right? Do you know, I've only just heard 
 that Madhu's son has got fever. How is he? 
 Have you heard? And Hari Charan Babu I 
 have not seen him for a long time I hope he is 
 not ill. What's the matter with Rakkhal? And, 
 er er, how are the ladies of your family? "
 
 176 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 
 
 Kailas Babu was spotlessly neat in his dress on 
 all occasions, though his supply of clothes was sorely 
 limited. Every day he used to air his shirts and 
 vests and coats and trousers carefully, and put them 
 out in the sun, along with his bed-quilt, his pillow- 
 case, and the small carpet on which he always sat. 
 After airing them he would shake them, and brush 
 them, and put them on the rock. His little bits of 
 furniture made his small room decent, and hinted 
 that there was more in reserve if needed. Very 
 often, for want of a servant, he would shut up his 
 house for a while. Then he would iron out his 
 shirts and linen with his own hands, and do other 
 little menial tasks. After this he would open his 
 door and receive his friends again. 
 
 Though Kailas Babu, as I have said, had lost all 
 his landed property, he had still some family heir- 
 looms left. There was a silver cruet for sprinkling 
 scented water, a filigree box for otto-of-roses, a small 
 gold salver, a costly ancient shawl, and the old- 
 fashioned ceremonial dress and ancestral turban. 
 These he had rescued with the greatest difficulty 
 from the money-lenders' clutches. On every suit- 
 able occasion he would bring them out in state, and 
 thus try to save the world-famed dignity of the Babus
 
 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 177 
 
 of Nayanjore. At heart the most modest of men, 
 in his daily speech he regarded it as a sacred duty, 
 owed to his rank, to give free play to his family 
 pride. His friends would encourage this trait in his 
 character with kindly good-humour, and it gave them 
 great amusement. 
 
 The neighbourhood soon learnt to call him their 
 Thakur Dada. 1 They would flock to his house, and 
 sit with him for hours together. To prevent his in- 
 curring any expense, one or other of his friends 
 would bring him tobacco, and say : " Thakur Dada, 
 this morning some tobacco was sent to me from 
 Gaya. Do take it, and see how you like it." 
 
 Thakur Dada would take it, and say it was ex- 
 cellent. He would then go on to tell of a certain 
 exquisite tobacco which they once smoked in the old 
 days at Nayanjore at the cost of a guinea an ounce. 
 
 " I wonder," he used to say, " I wonder if any 
 one would like to try it now. I have some left, and 
 can get it at once." 
 
 Every one knew that, if they asked for it, then 
 somehow or other the key of the cupboard would 
 be missing; or else Ganesh, his old family servant, 
 had put it away somewhere. 
 
 1 Grandfather.
 
 178 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 
 
 " You never can be sure," he would add, " where 
 things go to when servants are about. Now, this 
 Ganesh of mine,: I can't tell you what a fool he is, 
 but I haven't the heart to dismiss him." 
 
 Ganesh, for the credit of the family, was quite 
 ready to bear all the blame without a word. 
 
 One of the company usually said at this point: 
 " Never mind, Thakur Dada. Please don't trouble 
 to look for it. This tobacco we're smoking will do 
 quite well. The other would be too strong." 
 
 Then Thakur Dada would be relieved, and settle 
 down again, and the talk would go on. 
 
 When his guests got up to go away, Thakur Dada 
 would accompany them to the door, and say to them 
 on the door-step: " Oh, by the way, when are you 
 all coming to dine with me? " 
 
 One or other of us would answer: "Not just 
 yet, Thakur Dada, not just yet. We'll fix a day 
 later." 
 
 " Quite right," he would answer. "'Quite right. 
 We had much better wait till the rains come. It's 
 too hot now. And a grand rich dinner such as I 
 should want to give you would upset us in weather 
 like this." 
 
 But when the rains did come, every one was very
 
 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 179 
 
 careful not to remind him of his promise. If the 
 subject was brought up, some friend would suggest 
 gently that it was very inconvenient to get about when 
 the rains were so severe, that it would be much better 
 to wait till they were over. And so the game went 
 on. 
 
 His poor lodging was much too small for his posi- 
 tion, and we used to condole with him about it. His 
 friends would assure him they quite understood his 
 difficulties : it was next to impossible to get a decent 
 house in Calcutta. Indeed, they had all been look- 
 ing out for years for a house to suit him, but, I need 
 hardly add, no friend had been foolish enough to 
 find one. Thakur Dada used to say, after a long 
 sigh of resignation: " Well, well, I suppose I shall 
 have to put up with this house after all." Then he 
 would add with a genial smile : " But, you know, 
 I could never bear to be away from my friends. I 
 must be near you. That really compensates for 
 everything." 
 
 Somehow I felt all this very deeply indeed. I 
 suppose the real reason was, that when a man is 
 young stupidity appears to him the worst of crimes. 
 Kailas Babu was not really stupid. In ordinary 
 business matters every one was ready to consult him.
 
 i8o THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 
 
 But with regard to Nayanjore his utterances were 
 certainly void of common sense. Because, out of 
 amused affection for him, no one contradicted his 
 impossible statements, he refused to keep them in 
 bounds. When people recounted in his hearing the 
 glorious history of Nayanjore with absurd exaggera- 
 tions he would accept all they said with the utmost 
 gravity, and never doubted, even in his dreams, that 
 any one could disbelieve it. 
 
 II 
 
 When I sit down and try to analyse the thoughts 
 and feelings that I had towards Kailas Babu I see 
 that there was a still deeper reason for my dislike. 
 I will now explain. 
 
 Though I am the son of a rich man, and might 
 have wasted time at college, my industry was such 
 that I took my M.A. degree in Calcutta University 
 when quite young. My moral character was flaw- 
 less. In addition, my outward appearance was so 
 handsome, that if I were to call myself beautiful, 
 it might be thought a mark of self-estimation, but 
 could not be considered an untruth. 
 
 There could be no question that among the young 
 men of Bengal I was regarded by parents generally
 
 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 181 
 
 as a very eligible match. I was myself quite clear 
 on the point, and had determined to obtain my full 
 value in the marriage market. When I pictured my 
 choice, I had before my mind's eye a wealthy father's 
 only daughter, extremely beautiful and highly edu- 
 cated. Proposals came pouring in to me from far 
 and near; large sums in cash were offered. I 
 weighed these offers with rigid impartiality, in the 
 delicate scales of my own estimation. But there was 
 no one fit to be my partner. I became convinced, 
 with the poet Bhabavuti, that 
 
 In this world's endless time and boundless space 
 
 One may be born at last to match my sovereign grace. 
 
 But in this puny modern age, and this contracted 
 space of modern Bengal, it was doubtful if the peer- 
 less creature existed as yet. 
 
 Meanwhile my praises were sung in many tunes, 
 and in different metres, by designing parents. 
 
 Whether I was pleased with their daughters or 
 not, this worship which they offered was never un- 
 pleasing. I used to regard it as my proper due, be- 
 cause I was so good. We are told that when the 
 gods withhold their boons from mortals they still 
 expect their worshippers to pay them fervent honour,
 
 1 82 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 
 
 and are angry if it is withheld. I had that divine 
 expectance strongly developed in myself. 
 
 I have already mentioned that Thakur Dada had 
 an only grand-daughter. I had seen her many times, 
 but had never mistaken her for beautiful. No 
 thought had ever entered my mind that she would 
 be a possible partner for myself. All the same, it 
 seemed quite certain to me that some day or other 
 Kailas Babu would offer her, with all due worship, as 
 an oblation at my shrine. Indeed this was the 
 secret of my dislike I was thoroughly annoyed 
 that he had not done it already. 
 
 I heard he had told his friends that the Babus of 
 Nayanjore never craved a boon. Even if the girl 
 remained unmarried, he would not break the family 
 tradition. It was this arrogance of his that made 
 me angry. My indignation smouldered for some 
 time. But I remained perfectly silent, and bore it 
 with the utmost patience, because I was so good. 
 
 As lightning accompanies thunder, so in my charac- 
 ter a flash of humour was mingled with the mutter- 
 ings of my wrath. It was, of course, impossible for 
 me to punish the old man merely to give vent to my 
 rage; and for a long time I did nothing at all. But 
 suddenly one day such an amusing plan came into
 
 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 183 
 
 my head, that I could not resist the temptation of 
 carrying it into effect. 
 
 I have already said that many of Kailas Babu's 
 friends used to flatter the old man's vanity to the 
 full. One, who was a retired Government servant, 
 had told him that whenever he saw the Chota Lord 
 Sahib he always asked for the latest news about the 
 Babus of Nayanjore, and the Chota Lord had been 
 heard to say that in all Bengal the only really re- 
 spectable families were those of the Maharaja of 
 Burdwan and the Babus of Nayanjore. When this 
 monstrous falsehood was told to Kailas Babu he was 
 extremely gratified, and often repeated the story. 
 And wherever after that he met this Government 
 servant in company he would ask, along with other 
 questions : 
 
 "Oh! er by the way, how is the Chota Lord 
 Sahib? Quite well, did you say? Ah, yes, I am 
 so delighted to hear it! And the dear Mem Sahib, 
 is she quite well too? Ah, yes! and the little 
 children are they quite well also ? Ah, yes ! that's 
 very good news ! Be sure and give them my com- 
 pliments when you see them." 
 
 Kailas Babu would constantly express his intention 
 of going some day and paying a visit to the Sahib.
 
 1 84 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 
 
 But it may be taken for granted that many Chota 
 Lords and Burra Lords also would come and go, 
 and much water would pass down the Hoogly, be- 
 fore the family coach of Nayanjore would be fur- 
 nished up to pay a visit to Government House. 
 
 One day I took Kailas Babu aside, and told him 
 in a whisper: " Thakur Dada, I was at the Levee 
 yesterday, and the Chota Lord happened to mention 
 the Babus of Nayanjore. I told him that Kailas 
 Babu had come to town. Do you know, he was 
 terribly hurt because you hadn't called. He told me 
 he was going to put etiquette on one side, and pay 
 you a private visit himself this very afternoon." 
 
 Anybody else could have seen through this plot 
 of mine in a moment. And, if it had been directed 
 against another person, Kailas Babu would have un- 
 derstood the joke. But after all he had heard from 
 his friend the Government servant, and after all his 
 own exaggerations, a visit from the Lieutenant-Gov- 
 ernor seemed the most natural thing in the world. 
 He became highly nervous and excited at my news. 
 Each detail of the coming visit exercised him greatly 
 most of all his own ignorance of English. How 
 on earth was that difficulty to be met? I told him 
 there was no difficulty at all: it was aristocratic not
 
 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 185 
 
 to know English: and, besides, the Lieutenant-Gov- 
 ernor always brought an interpreter with him, and he 
 had expressly mentioned that this visit was to be 
 private. 
 
 About mid-day, when most of our neighbours are 
 at work, and the rest are asleep, a carriage and pair 
 stopped before the lodging of Kailas Babu. Two 
 flunkeys in livery came up the stairs, and announced 
 in a loud voice, " The Chota Lord Sahib has ar- 
 rived." Kailas Babu was ready, waiting for him, 
 in his old-fashioned ceremonial robes and ancestral 
 turban, and Ganesh was by his side, dressed in his 
 master's best suit of clothes for the occasion. When 
 the Chota Lord Sahib was announced, Kailas Babu 
 ran panting and puffing and trembling to the door, 
 and led in a friend of mine, in disguise, with repeated 
 salaams, bowing low at each step, and walking back- 
 ward as best he could. He had his old family shawl 
 spread over a hard wooden chair, and he asked the 
 Lord Sahib to be seated. He then made a high- 
 flown speech in Urdu, the ancient Court language of 
 the Sahibs, and presented on the golden salver a 
 string of gold mohurs, the last relics of his broken 
 fortune. The old family servant Ganesh, with an 
 expression of awe bordering on terror, stood behind
 
 1 86 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 
 
 with the scent-sprinkler, drenching the Lord Sahib, 
 touching him gingerly from time to time with the 
 otto-of-roses from the filigree box. 
 
 Kailas Babu repeatedly expressed his regret at not 
 being able to receive His Honour Bahadur with all 
 the ancestral magnificence of his own family estate 
 at Nayanjore. There he could have welcomed him 
 properly with due ceremonial. But in Calcutta he 
 was a mere stranger and sojourner in fact a fish 
 out of water. 
 
 My friend, with his tall silk hat on, very gravely 
 nodded. I need hardly say that according to Eng- 
 lish custom the hat ought to have been removed 
 inside the room. But my friend did not dare to take 
 it off for fear of detection; and Kailas Babu and his 
 old servant Ganesh were sublimely unconscious of 
 the breach of etiquette. 
 
 After a ten minutes' interview, which consisted 
 chiefly of nodding the head, my friend rose to his feet 
 to depart. The two flunkeys in livery, as had been 
 planned beforehand, carried off in state the string 
 of gold mohurs, the gold salver, the old ancestral 
 shawl, the silver scent-sprinkler, and the otto-of-roses 
 filigree box; they placed them ceremoniously in the
 
 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 187 
 
 carriage. Kailas Babu regarded this as the usual 
 habit of Chota Lord Sahibs. 
 
 I was watching all the while from the next room. 
 My sides were aching with suppressed laughter. 
 When I could hold myself in no longer, I rushed 
 into a further room, suddenly to discover, in a cor- 
 ner, a young girl sobbing as if her heart would break. 
 When she saw my uproarious laughter she stood up- 
 right in passion, flashing the lightning of her big 
 dark eyes in mine, and said with a tear-choked voice : 
 ' Tell me ! What harm has my grandfather done 
 to you? Why have you come to deceive him? 
 Why have you come here? Why " 
 
 She could say no more. She covered her face 
 with her hands, and broke into sobs. 
 
 My laughter vanished in a moment. It had never 
 occurred to me that there was anything but a su- 
 premely funny joke in this act of mine, and here I 
 discovered that I had given the crudest pain to this 
 tenderest little heart. All the ugliness of my cruelty 
 rose up to condemn me. I slunk out of the room in 
 silence, like a kicked dog. 
 
 Hitherto I had only looked upon Kusum, the 
 grand-daughter of Kailas Babu, as a somewhat
 
 1 88 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 
 
 worthless commodity in the marriage market, wait- 
 ing in vain to attract a husband. But now I found, 
 with a shock of surprise, that in the corner of that 
 room a human heart was beating. 
 
 The whole night through I had very little sleep. 
 My mind was in a tumult. On the next day, very 
 early in the morning, I took all those stolen goods 
 back to Kailas Babu's lodgings, wishing to hand them 
 over in secret to the servant Ganesh. I waited out- 
 side the door, and, not finding any one, went upstairs 
 to Kailas Babu's room. I heard from the passage 
 Kusum asking her grandfather in the most winning 
 voice: " Dada, dearest, do tell me all that the 
 Chota Lord Sahib said to you yesterday. Don't 
 leave out a single word. I am dying to hear it all 
 over again." 
 
 And Dada needed no encouragement. His face 
 beamed over with pride as he related all manner 
 of praises, which the Lord Sahib had been good 
 enough to utter concerning the ancient families of 
 Nayanjore. The girl was seated before him, look- 
 ing up into his face, and listening with rapt attention. 
 She was determined, out of love for the old man, to 
 play her part to the full. 
 
 My heart was deeply touched, and tears came to
 
 THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 189 
 
 my eyes. I stood there in silence in the passage, 
 while Thakur Dada finished all his embellishments of 
 the Chota Lord Sahib's wonderful visit. When he 
 left the room at last, I took the stolen goods and laid 
 them at the feet of the girl and came away without 
 a word. 
 
 Later in the day I called again to see Kailas Babu 
 himself. According to our ugly modern custom, I 
 had been in the habit of making no greeting at all 
 to this old man when I came into the room. But on 
 this day I made a low bow, and touched his feet. I 
 am convinced the old man thought that the coming 
 of the Chota Lord Sahib to his house was the cause 
 of my new politeness. He was highly gratified by 
 it, and an air of benign severity shone from his eyes. 
 His friends had flocked in, and he had already begun 
 to tell again at full length the story of the Lieuten- 
 ant-Governor's visit with still further adornments of 
 a most fantastic kind. The interview was already 
 becoming an epic, both in quality and in length. 
 
 When the other visitors had taken their leave, I 
 made my proposal to the old man in a humble man- 
 ner. I told him that, " though I could never for a 
 moment hope to be worthy of marriage connection 
 with such an illustrious family, yet . . . etc. etc."
 
 i 9 o THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 
 
 When I made clear my proposal of marriage, the 
 old man embraced me, and broke out in a tumult of 
 joy: " I am a poor man, and could never have ex- 
 pected such great good fortune." 
 
 That was the first and last time in his life that 
 Kailas Babu confessed to being poor. It was also 
 the first and last time in his life that he forgot, if 
 only for a single moment, the ancestral dignity that 
 belongs to the Babus of Nayanjore.
 
 LIVING OR DEAD?
 
 LIVING OR DEAD? 
 
 THE widow in the house of Saradasankar, the 
 Ranihat zemindar, had no kinsmen of her father's 
 family. One after another all had died. Nor had 
 she in her husband's family any one she could call 
 her own, neither husband nor son. The child of 
 her brother-in-law Saradasankar was her darling. 
 For a long time after his birth, his mother had been 
 very ill, and the widow, his aunt Kadambini, had 
 fostered him. If a woman fosters another's child, 
 her love for him is all the stronger because she has 
 no claim upon him no claim of kinship, that is, 
 but simply the claim of love. Love cannot prove 
 its claim by any document which society accepts, 
 and does not wish to prove it; it merely worships 
 with double passion its life's uncertain treasure. 
 Thus all the widow's thwarted love went out to- 
 wards this little child. One night in Sraban 
 Kadambini died suddenly. For some reason her 
 heart stopped beating. Everywhere else the world 
 
 193
 
 i 9 4 LIVING OR DEAD? 
 
 held on its course; only in this gentle little breast, 
 suffering with love, the watch of time stood still for 
 ever. 
 
 Lest they should be harassed by the police, four 
 of the zemindar's Brahmin servants took away the 
 body, without ceremony, to be burned. The burn- 
 ing-ground of Ranihat was very far from the vil- 
 lage. There was a hut beside a tank, a huge banian 
 near it, and nothing more. Formerly a river, now 
 completely dried up, ran through the ground, and 
 a part of the watercourse had been dug out to make 
 a tank for the performance of funeral rites. The 
 people considered the tank as part of the river and 
 reverenced it as such. 
 
 Taking the body into the hut, the four men sat 
 down to wait for the wood. The time seemed so 
 long that two of the four grew restless, and went 
 to see why it did not come. Nitai and Gurucharan 
 being gone, Bidhu and Banamali remained to watch 
 over the body. 
 
 It was a dark night of Sraban. Heavy clouds 
 hung in a starless sky. The two men sat silent in 
 the dark room. Their matches and lamp were 
 useless. The matches were damp, and would not 
 light, for all their efforts, and the lantern went out.
 
 LIVING OR DEAD? 195 
 
 After a long silence, one said: " Brother, it would 
 be good if we had a bowl of tobacco. In our hurry 
 we brought none." 
 
 The other answered: " I can run and bring all 
 we want." 
 
 Understanding why Banamali wanted to go, 1 
 Bidhu said: "I daresay! Meanwhile, I suppose 
 I am to sit here alone ! " 
 
 Conversation ceased again. Five minutes seemed 
 like an hour. In their minds they cursed the two, 
 who had gone to fetch the wood, and they began 
 to suspect that they sat gossiping in some pleas- 
 ant nook. There was no sound anywhere, except 
 the incessant noise of frogs and crickets from the 
 tank. Then suddenly they fancied that the bed 
 shook slightly, as if the dead body had turned on 
 its side. Bidhu and Banamali trembled, and began 
 muttering: " Ram, Ram." A deep sigh was heard 
 in the room. In a moment the watchers leapt out 
 of the hut, and raced for the village. 
 
 After running about three miles, they met their 
 colleagues coming back with a lantern. As a mat- 
 ter of fact, they had gone to smoke, and knew noth- 
 
 1 From fear of ghosts, the burning-ground being considered 
 haunted.
 
 i 9 6 LIVING OR DEAD? 
 
 ing about the wood. But they declared that a tree 
 had been cut down, and that, when it was split up, 
 it would be brought along at once. Then Bidhu 
 and Banamali told them what had happened in the 
 hut. Nitai and Gurucharan scoffed at the story, 
 and abused Bidhu and Banamali angrily for leaving 
 their duty. 
 
 Without delay all four returned to the hut. As 
 they entered, they saw at once that the body was 
 gone; nothing but an empty bed remained. They 
 stared at one another. Could a jackal have taken 
 it? But there was no scrap of clothing anywhere. 
 Going outside, they saw that on the mud that had 
 collected at the door of the hut there were a woman's 
 tiny footprints, newly made. Saradasankar was 
 no fool, and they could hardly persuade him to be- 
 lieve in this ghost story. So after much discussion 
 the four decided that it would be best to say that 
 the body had been burnt. 
 
 Towards dawn, when the men with the wood ar- 
 rived they were told that, owing to their delay, the 
 work had been done without them; there had been 
 some wood in the hut after all. No one was likely 
 to question this, since a dead body is not such a 
 valuable property that any one would steal it.
 
 LIVING OR DEAD? 197 
 
 ii 
 
 Every one knows that, even when there is no 
 sign, life is often secretly present, and may begin 
 again in an apparently dead body. Kadambini was 
 not dead; only the machine of her life had for some 
 reason suddenly stopped. 
 
 When consciousness returned, she saw dense dark- 
 ness on all sides. It occurred to her that she was 
 not lying in her usual place. She called out " Sis- 
 ter," but no answer came from the darkness. As 
 she sat up, terror-stricken, she remembered her 
 death-bed, the sudden pain at her breast, the be- 
 ginning of a choking sensation. Her elder sister- 
 in-law was warming some milk for the child, when 
 Kadambini became faint, and fell on the bed, saying 
 with a choking voice : " Sister, bring the child here. 
 I am worried." After that everything was black, 
 as when an inkpot is upset over an exercise-book. 
 Kadambini's memory and consciousness, all the let- 
 ters of the world's book, in a moment became form- 
 less. The widow could not remember whether the 
 child, in the sweet voice of love, called her " Auntie," 
 as if for the last time, or not; she could not remem- 
 ber whether, as she left the world she knew for 
 death's endless unknown journey, she had received
 
 198 LIVING OR DEAD? 
 
 a parting gift of affection, love's passage-money for 
 the silent land. At first, I fancy, she thought the 
 lonely dark place was the House of Yama, where 
 there is nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to 
 do, only an eternal watch. But when a cold damp 
 wind drove through the open door, and she heard 
 the croaking of frogs, she remembered vividly and 
 in a moment all the rains of her short life, and could 
 feel her kinship with the earth. Then came a flash 
 of lightning, and she saw the tank, the banian, the 
 great plain, the far-off trees. She remembered how 
 at full moon she had sometimes come to bathe in this 
 tank, and how dreadful death had seemed when she 
 saw a corpse on the burning-ground. 
 
 Her first thought was to return home. But then 
 she reflected: "I am dead. How can I return 
 home? That would bring disaster on them. I 
 have left the kingdom of the living; I am my own 
 ghost!" If this were not so, she reasoned, how 
 could she have got out of Saradasankar's well- 
 guarded zenana, and come to this distant burning- 
 ground at midnight? Also, if her funeral rites had 
 not been finished, where had the men gone who 
 should burn her? Recalling her death-moment in
 
 LIVING OR DEAD? 199 
 
 Saradasankar's brightly-lit house, she now found 
 herself alone in. a distant, deserted, dark burning- 
 ground. Surely she was no member of earthly so- 
 ciety! Surely she was a creature of horror, of ill- 
 omen, her own ghost ! 
 
 At this thought, all the bonds were snapped which 
 bound her to the world. She felt that she had 
 marvellous strength, endless freedom. She could 
 do what she liked, go where she pleased. Mad with 
 the inspiration of this new idea, she rushed from the 
 hut like a gust of wind, and stood upon the burning- 
 ground. All trace of shame or fear had left her. 
 
 But as she walked on and on, her feet grew tired, 
 her body weak. The plain stretched on endlessly; 
 here and there were paddy-fields; sometimes she 
 found herself standing knee-deep in water. 
 
 At the first glimmer of dawn she heard one or 
 two birds cry from the bamboo-clumps by the dis- 
 tant houses. Then terror seized her. She could 
 not tell in what new relation she stood to the earth 
 and to living folk. So long as she had been on the 
 plain, on the burning-ground, covered by the dark 
 night of Sraban, so long she had been fearless, a 
 denizen of her own kingdom. By daylight the
 
 200 LIVING OR DEAD? 
 
 homes of men filled her with fear. Men and 
 ghosts dread each other, for their tribes inhabit dif- 
 ferent banks of the river of death. 
 
 ill 
 
 Her cjothes were clotted in the mud; strange 
 thoughts and walking by night had given her the 
 aspect of a madwoman; truly, her apparition was 
 such that folk might have been afraid of her, and 
 children might have stoned her or run away. Luck- 
 ily, the first to catch sight of her was a tiaveller. 
 He came up, and said: " Mother, you look a re- 
 spectable woman. Wherever are you going, alone 
 and in this guise? " 
 
 Kadambini, unable to collect her thoughts, stared 
 at him in silence. She could not think that she was 
 still in touch with the world, that she looked like 
 a respectable woman, that a traveller was asking her 
 questions. 
 
 Again the man said: " Come, mother, I will see 
 you home. Tell me where you live." 
 
 Kadambini thought. To return to her father-in- 
 law's house would be absurd, and she had no father's 
 house. Then she remembered the friend of her 
 childhood. She had not seen Jogmaya since the
 
 LIVING OR DEAD? 201 
 
 days of her youth, but from time to time they had 
 exchanged letters. Occasionally there had been 
 quarrels between them, as was only right, since 
 Kadambihi wished to make it clear that her love for 
 Jogmaya was unbounded, while her friend com- 
 plained that Kadambini did not return a love equal 
 to her own. They were both sure mat, if they 
 once met, they would be inseparable. 
 
 Kadambini said to the traveller: " I will go to 
 Sripati's house at Nisindapur." 
 
 As he was going to Calcutta, Nisindapur, though 
 not near, was on his way. So he took Kadambini 
 to Sripati's house, and the friends met again. At 
 first they did not recognise one another, but grad- 
 ually each recognised the features of the other's 
 childhood. 
 
 " What luck! " said Jogmaya. " I never dreamt 
 that I should see you again. But how have you 
 come here, sister? Your father-in-law's folk surely 
 didn't let you go ! " 
 
 Kadambini remained silent, and at last said: 
 " Sister, do not ask about my father-in-law. Give 
 me a corner, and treat me as a servant: I will do your 
 work." 
 
 "What?" cried Jogmaya. "Keep you like a
 
 202 LIVING OR DEAD? 
 
 servant! Why, you are my closest friend, you are 
 my " and so on and so on. 
 
 Just then Sripati came in. Kadambini stared at 
 him for some time, and then went out very slowly. 
 She kept her head uncovered, and showed not the 
 slightest modesty or respect. Jogmaya, fearing that 
 Sripati would be prejudiced against her friend, be- 
 gan an elaborate explanation. But Sripati, who 
 readily agreed to anything Jogmaya said, cut short 
 her story, and left his wife uneasy in her mind. 
 
 Kadambini had come, but she was not at one with 
 her friend: death was between them. She could 
 feel no intimacy for others so long as her existence 
 perplexed her and consciousness remained. Kadam- 
 bini would look at Jogmaya, and brood. She would 
 think: "She has her husband and her work, she 
 lives in a world far away from mine. She shares 
 affection and duty with the people of the world; I 
 am an empty shadow. She is among the living; I 
 am in eternity." 
 
 Jogmaya also was uneasy, but could not explain 
 why. Women do not love mystery, because, though 
 uncertainty may be transmuted into poetry, into 
 heroism, into scholarship, it cannot be turned to ac- 
 count in household work. So, when a woman can-
 
 LIVING OR DEAD? 203 
 
 not understand a thing, she either destroys and for- 
 gets it, or she shapes it anew for her own use; if 
 she fails to deal with it in one of these ways, she 
 loses her temper with it. The greater Kadambini's 
 abstraction became, the more impatient was Jog- 
 maya with her, wondering what trouble weighed 
 upon her mind. 
 
 Then a new danger arose. Kadambini was 
 afraid of herself; yet she could not flee from her- 
 self. Those who fear ghosts fear those who are be- 
 hind them; wherever they cannot see there is fear. 
 But Kadambini's chief terror lay in herself, for she 
 dreaded nothing external. At the dead of night, 
 when alone in her room, she screamed; in the eve- 
 ning, when she saw her shadow in the lamp-light, 
 her whole body shook. Watching her fearfulness, 
 the rest of the house fell into a sort of terror. The 
 servants and Jogmaya herself began to see ghosts. 
 
 One midnight, Kadambini came out from her 
 bedroom weeping, and wailed at Jogmaya's door: 
 " Sister, sister, let me lie at your feet ! Do not put 
 me by myself! " 
 
 Jogmaya's anger was no less than her fear. She 
 would have liked to drive Kadambini from the house 
 that very second. The good-natured Sripati, after
 
 204 LIVING OR DEAD? 
 
 much effort, succeeded in quieting their guest, and 
 put her in the next room. 
 
 Next day Sripati was unexpectedly summoned to 
 his wife's apartments. She began to upbraid him: 
 " You, do you call yourself a man? A woman runs 
 away from he-r father-in-law, and enters your house ; 
 a month passes, and you haven't hinted that she 
 should go away, nor have I heard the slightest pro- 
 test from you. I should take it as a favour if you 
 would explain yourself. You men are all alike." 
 
 Men, as a race, have a natural partiality for 
 womankind in general, for which women themselves 
 hold them accountable. Although Sripati was pre- 
 pared to touch Jogmaya's body, and swear that his 
 kind feeling towards the helpless but beautiful Ka- 
 dambini was no whit greater than it should be, he 
 could not prove it by his behaviour. He thought 
 that her father-in-law's people must have treated 
 this forlorn widow abominably, if she could bear it 
 no longer, and was driven to take refuge with him. 
 As she had neither father nor mother, how could he 
 desert her? So saying, he let the matter drop, for 
 he had no mind to distress Kadambini by asking her 
 unpleasant questions. 
 
 His wife, then, tried other means of attack upon
 
 LIVING OR DEAD? 205 
 
 her sluggish lord, until at last he saw that for the 
 sake of peace he must send word to Kadambini's 
 father-in-law. The result of a letter, he thought, 
 might not be satisfactory; so he resolved to go to 
 Ranihat, and act on what he learnt. 
 
 So Sripati went, and Jogmaya on her part said 
 to Kadambini : " Friend, it hardly seems proper 
 for you to stop here any longer. What will people 
 say?" 
 
 Kadambini stared solemnly at Jogmaya, and said: 
 " What have I to do with people? " 
 
 Jogmaya was astounded. Then she said sharply: 
 " If you have nothing to do with people, we have. 
 How can we explain the detention of a woman be- 
 longing to another house? " 
 
 Kadambini said: "Where is my father-in-law's 
 house? " 
 
 " Confound it! " thought Jogmaya. " What will 
 the wretched woman say next? " 
 
 Very slowly Kadambini said: ; ' What have I to 
 do with you? Am I of the earth? You laugh, 
 weep, love; each grips and holds his own; I merely 
 look. You are human, I a shadow. I cannot 
 understand why God has kept me in this world of 
 yours."
 
 206 LIVING OR DEAD? 
 
 So strange were her look and speech that Jog- 
 maya understood something of her drift, though not 
 all. Unable either to dismiss her, or to ask her 
 any more questions, she went away, oppressed with 
 thought. 
 
 IV 
 
 It was nearly ten o'clock at night when Sripati 
 returned from Ranihat. The earth was drowned 
 in torrents of rain. It seemed that the downpour 
 would never stop, that the night would never end. 
 
 Jogmaya asked: " Well? " 
 
 " I've lots to say, presently." 
 
 So saying, Sripati changed his clothes, and sat 
 down to supper; then he lay down for a smoke. His 
 mind was perplexed. 
 
 His wife stifled her curiosity for a long time ; then 
 she came to his couch and demanded: " What did 
 you hear? " 
 
 " That you have certainly made a mistake." 
 
 Jogmaya was nettled. Women never make mis- 
 takes, or, if they do, a sensible man never mentions 
 them; it is better to take them on his own shoulders. 
 Jogmaya snapped: " May I be permitted to hear 
 how?"
 
 LIVING OR DEAD? 207 
 
 Sripati replied: "The woman you have taken 
 into your house is not your Kadambini." 
 
 Hearing this, she was greatly annoyed, especially 
 since it was her husband who said it. "What! I 
 don't know my own friend? I must come to you to 
 recognise her! You are clever, indeed! " 
 
 Sripati explained that there was no need to quar- 
 rel about his cleverness. He could prove what he 
 said. There was no doubt that Jogmaya's Kadam- 
 bini was dead. 
 
 Jogmaya replied: "Listen! You've certainly 
 made some huge mistake. You've been to the 
 wrong house, or are confused as to what you have 
 heard. Who told you to go yourself? Write a 
 letter, and everything will be cleared up." 
 
 Sripati was hurt by his wife's lack of faith in his 
 executive ability; he produced all sorts of proof, 
 without result. Midnight found them still assert- 
 ing and contradicting. Although they were both 
 agreed now that Kadambini should be got out of 
 the house, although Sripati believed that their guest 
 had deceived his wife all the time by a pretended 
 acquaintance, and Jogmaya that she was a prostitute, 
 yet in the present discussion neither would acknowl- 
 edge defeat. By degrees their voices became so
 
 208 LIVING OR DEAD? 
 
 loud that they forgot that Kadambini was sleeping 
 in the next room. 
 
 The one said: " We're in a nice fix! I tell you, 
 I heard it with my own ears ! " And the other an- 
 swered angrily: "What do I care about that? I 
 can see with my own eyes, surely." 
 
 At length Jogmaya said : " Very well. Tell me 
 when Kadambini died." She thought that if she 
 could find a discrepancy between the day of death 
 and the date of some letter from Kadambini, she 
 could prove that Sripati erred. 
 
 He told her the date of Kadambini's death, and 
 they both saw that it fell on the very day before she 
 came to their house. Jogmaya's heart trembled, 
 and even Sripati was not unmoved. 
 
 Just then the door flew open; a damp wind swept 
 in and blew the lamp out. The darkness rushed 
 after it, and filled the whole house. Kadambini 
 stood in the room. It was nearly one o'clock, and 
 the rain was pelting outside. 
 
 Kadambini spoke : " Friend, I am your Kadam- 
 bini, but I am no longer living. I am dead." 
 
 Jogmaya screamed with terror; Sripati could not 
 speak. 
 
 " But, save in being dead, I have done you no
 
 LIVING OR DEAD? 209 
 
 wrong. If I have no place among the living, I have 
 none among the dead. Oh! whither shall I go?" 
 Crying as if to wake the sleeping Creator in the 
 dense night of rain, she asked again : " Oh 1 whither 
 shall I go?" 
 
 So saying Kadambini left her friend fainting in the 
 dark house, and went out into the world, seeking her 
 own place. 
 
 v 
 
 It is hard to say how Kadambini reached Rani- 
 hat. At first she showed herself to no one, but spent 
 the whole day in a ruined temple, starving. When 
 the untimely afternoon of the rains was pitch-black, 
 and people huddled into their houses for fear of 
 the impending storm, then Kadambini came forth. 
 Her heart trembled as she reached her father-in- 
 law's house; and when, drawing a thick veil over her 
 face, she entered, none of the doorkeepers objected, 
 since they took her for a servant. And the rain was 
 pouring down, and the wind howled. 
 
 The mistress, Saradasankar's wife, was playing 
 cards with her widowed sister. A servant was in 
 the kitchen, the sick child was sleeping in the bed- 
 room. Kadambini, escaping every one's notice, en-
 
 210 LIVING OR DEAD? 
 
 tered this room. I do not know why she had come 
 to her father-in-law's house; she herself did not 
 know; she felt only that she wanted to see her child 
 again. She had no thought where to go next, or 
 what to do. 
 
 In the lighted room she saw the child sleeping, 
 his fists clenched, his body wasted with fever. At 
 sight of him, her heart became parched and thirsty. 
 If only she could press that tortured body to her 
 breast! Immediately the thought followed: "I 
 do not exist. Who would see it? His mother 
 loves company, loves gossip and cards. All the time 
 that she left me in charge, she was herself free from 
 anxiety, nor was she troubled about him in the least. 
 Who will look after him now as I did? " 
 
 The child turned on his side, and cried, half- 
 asleep : " Auntie, give me water." Her darling 
 had not yet forgotten his auntie ! In a fever of ex- 
 citement, she poured out some water, and, taking him 
 to her breast, she gave it him. 
 
 As long as he was asleep, the child felt no strange- 
 ness in taking water from the accustomed hand. 
 But when Kadambini satisfied her long-starved long- 
 ing, and kissed him and began rocking him asleep
 
 LIVING OR DEAD? 211 
 
 again, he awoke and embraced her. " Did you die, 
 Auntie? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, darling." 
 
 " And you have come back? Do not die again." 
 
 Before she could answer disaster overtook her. 
 One of the maidservants coming in with a cup of 
 sago dropped it, and fell down. At the crash the 
 mistress left her cards, and entered the room. She 
 stood like a pillar of wood, unable to flee or speak. 
 Seeing all this, the child, too, became terrified, and 
 burst out weeping: "Go away, Auntie," he said, 
 " go away! " 
 
 Now at last Kadambini understood that she had 
 not died. The old room, the old things, the same 
 child, the same love, all returned to their living 
 state, without change or difference between her and 
 them. In her friend's house she had felt that her 
 childhood's companion was dead. In her child's 
 room she knew that the boy's " Auntie " was not 
 dead at all. In anguished tones she said: "Sis- 
 ter, why do you dread me? See, I am as you knew 
 me." 
 
 Her sister-in-law could endure no longer, and fell 
 into a faint. Saradasankar himself entered the
 
 212 LIVING OR DEAD? 
 
 zenana. With folded hands, he said piteously: 
 " Is this right? Satis is my only son. Why do you 
 show yourself to him? Are we not your own kin? 
 Since you went, he has wasted away daily; his fever 
 has been incessant; day and night he cries: 
 'Auntie, Auntie.' You have left the world; break 
 these bonds of maya. 1 We will perform all funeral 
 honours." 
 
 Kadambini could bear no more. She said: 
 " Oh, I am not dead, I am not dead. Oh, how can 
 I persuade you that I am not dead? I am living, 
 living! " She lifted a brass pot from the ground 
 and dashed it against her forehead. The blood ran 
 from her brow. "Look!" she cried, "I am liv- 
 ing!" Saradasankar stood like an image; the 
 child screamed with fear, the two fainting women 
 lay still. 
 
 Then Kadambini, shouting " I am not dead, I am 
 not dead," went down the steps to the zenana well, 
 and plunged in. From the upper storey Sarada- 
 sankar heard the splash. 
 
 All night the rain poured; it poured next day at 
 dawn, was pouring still at noon. By dying, Kadam- 
 bini had given proof that she was not dead. 
 
 1 Illusory affection binding a soul to the world.
 
 "WE CROWN THEE KING
 
 ' WE CROWN THEE KING ' 
 
 WHEN Nabendu Sekhar was wedded to Arunlekha, 
 the God of marriage smiled from behind the sacri- 
 ficial fire. Alas! what is sport for the gods is not 
 
 ~-_i ^___ _ 
 
 always a joke to us poor mortals. 
 
 Purnendu Sekhar, the father of Nabendu, was a 
 man well known amongst the English officials of the 
 Government. In the voyage of life he had arrived 
 at the desert shores of Rai Bahadurship by dili- 
 gently plying his oars of salaams. He held in re- 
 serve enough for further advancement, but at the 
 age of fifty-five, his tender gaze still fixed on the 
 misty peak of Raja-hood, he suddenly found himself 
 transported to a region where earthly honours and 
 decorations are naught, and his salaam-weaned neck 
 found everlasting repose on the funeral pyre. 
 
 According to modern science, force is not de- 
 stroyed, but is merely converted to another form, 
 and applied to another point. So Purnendu's sa- 
 laam-force, constant handmaid of the fickle God- 
 dess of Fortune, descended from the shoulder of the 
 father to that of his worthy son; and the youthful 
 
 215
 
 216 'WE CROWN THEE KING" 
 
 head of Nabendu Sekhar began to move up and 
 down, at the doors of high-placed Englishmen, like 
 a pumpkin swayed by the wind. 
 
 The traditions of the family into which he had 
 married were entirely different. Its eldest son, 
 Pramathanath, had won for himself the love of his 
 kinsfolk and the regard of all who knew him. 
 His kinsmen and his neighbours looked up to him 
 as their ideal in all things. 
 
 Pramathanath was a Bachelor of Arts, and in ad- 
 dition was gifted with common sense. But he held 
 no high official position; he had no handsome sal- 
 ary; nor did he exert any influence with his pen. 
 There was no one in power to lend him a helping 
 hand, because he desired to keep away from Eng- 
 lishmen, as much as they desired to keep away from 
 him. So it happened that he shone only within the 
 sphere of his family and his friends, and excited no 
 admiration beyond it. 
 
 Yet this Pramathanath had once sojourned in 
 England for some three years. The kindly treat- 
 ment he received during his stay there overpowered 
 him so much that he forgot the sorrow and the hu- 
 miliation of his own country, and came back dressed 
 in European clothes. This rather grieved his
 
 'WE CROWN THEE KING" 217 
 
 brothers and his sisters at first, but after a few days 
 they began to think that European clothes suited no- 
 body better, and gradually they came to share his 
 pride and dignity. 
 
 On his return from England, Pramathanath re- 
 solved that he would show the world how to asso- 
 ciate with Anglo-Indians on terms of equality. 
 Those of our countrymen who think that no such as- 
 sociation is possible, unless we bend our knees to 
 them, showed their utter lack of self-respect, and 
 were also unjust to the English so thought Pra- 
 mathanath. 
 
 He brought with him letters of introduction from 
 many distinguished Englishmen at home, and these 
 gave him some recognition in Anglo-Indian society. 
 He and his wife occasionally enjoyed English hos- 
 pitality at tea, dinner, sports and other entertain- 
 ments. Such good luck intoxicated him, and began 
 to produce a tingling sensation in every vein of his 
 body. 
 
 About this time, at the opening of a new railway 
 line, many of the town, proud recipients of official 
 favour, were invited by the Lieutenant-Governor to 
 take the first trip. Pramathanath was among 
 them. On the return journey, a European Sergeant
 
 218 "WE CROWN THEE KING" 
 
 of the Police expelled some Indian gentlemen from 
 a railway-carriage with great insolence. Pramath- 
 anath, dressed in his European clothes, was there. 
 He, too, was getting out, when the Sergeant said: 
 " You needn't move, sir. Keep your seat, please." 
 
 At first Pramathanath felt flattered at the spe- 
 cial respect thus shown to him. When, however, 
 the train went on, the dull rays of the setting sun, at 
 the west of the fields, now ploughed up and stripped 
 of green, seemed in his eyes to spread a glow of 
 shame over the whole country. Sitting near the 
 window of his lonely compartment, he seemed to 
 catch a glimpse of the down-cast eyes of his Mother- 
 land, hidden behind the trees. As Pramathanath 
 sat there, lost in reverie, burning tears flowed down 
 his cheeks, and his heart burst with indignation. 
 
 He now remembered the story of a donkey who 
 was drawing the chariot of an idol along the street. 
 The wayfarers bowed down to the idol, and touched 
 the dusty ground with their foreheads. The fool- 
 ish donkey imagined that all this reverence was be- 
 ing shown to him. " The only difference," said 
 Pramathanath to himself, " between the donkey and 
 myself is this: I understand to-day that the respect
 
 "WE CROWN THEE KING" 219 
 
 I receive is not given to me but to the burden on my 
 back." 
 
 Arriving home, Pramathanath called together all 
 the children of the household, and lighting a big 
 bonfire, threw all his European clothes into it one by 
 one. The children danced round and round it, and 
 the higher the flames shot up, the greater was their 
 merriment. After that, Pramathanath gave up 
 his sip of tea and bits of toast in Anglo-Indian 
 houses, and once again sat inaccessible within the cas- 
 tle of his house, while his insulted friends went about 
 from the door of one Englishman to that of another, 
 bending their turbaned heads as before. 
 
 By an irony of fate, poor Nabendu Sekhar mar- 
 ried the second daughter of this house. His sis- 
 ters-in-law were well educated and handsome. Na- 
 bendu considered he had made a lucky bargain. 
 But he lost no time in trying to impress on the fam- 
 ily that it was a rare bargain on their side also. 
 As if by mistake, he would often hand to his sisters- 
 in-law sundry letters that his late father had received 
 from Europeans. And when the cherry lips of those 
 young ladies smiled sarcastically, and the point of 
 a shining dagger peeped out of its sheath of red
 
 220 'WE CROWN THEE KING" 
 
 velvet, the unfortunate man saw his folly, and re- 
 gretted it. 
 
 Labanyalekha, the eldest sister, surpassed the 
 rest in beauty and cleverness. Finding an auspicious 
 day, she put on the mantel-shelf of Nabendu's bed- 
 room two pairs of English boots, daubed with ver- 
 milion, and arranged flowers, sandal-paste, incense 
 and a couple of burning candles before them in true 
 ceremonial fashion. When Nabendu came in, the 
 two sisters-in-law stood on either side of him, and 
 said with mock solemnity: "Bow down to your 
 gods, and may you prosper through their blessings." 
 
 The third sister Kiranlekha spent many days in 
 embroidering with red silk one hundred common 
 English names such as Jones, Smith, Brown, Thom- 
 son, etc., on a chadar. When it was ready, she 
 presented this namavvli 1 to Nabendu Sekhar with 
 great ceremony. 
 
 The fourth, Sasankalekha, of tender age and 
 therefore of no account, said: " I will make you a 
 string of beads, brother, with which to tell the names 
 of your gods the sahibs." Her sisters reproved 
 her, saying: ; ' Run away, you saucy girl." 
 
 1 A namavali is a sheet of cloth printed all over with the names 
 of Hindu gods and goddesses and worn by pious Hindus when 
 engaged in devotional exercises.
 
 'WE CROWN THEE KING" 221 
 
 Feelings of shame and irritation assailed by 
 turns the mind of Nabendu Sekhar. Still he could 
 not forego the company of his sisters-in-law, espe- 
 cially as the eldest one was beautiful. Her honey 
 was no less than her gall, and Nabendu's mind 
 tasted at once the sweetness of the one and the bit- 
 terness of the other. The butterfly, with its bruised 
 wings, buzzes round the flower in blind fury, unable 
 to depart. 
 
 The society of his sisters-in-law so much infatu- 
 ated him that at last Nabendu began to disavow his 
 craving for European favours. When he went to 
 salaam the Burra Sahib, he used to pretend that he 
 was going to listen to a speech by Mr. Surendranath 
 Banerjea. When he went to the railway station to 
 pay respects to the Chota Sahib, returning from 
 Darjeeling, he would tell his sisters-in-law that he 
 expected his youngest uncle. 
 
 It was a sore trial to the unhappy man placed be- 
 tween the cross-fires of his Sahibs and his sisters-in- 
 law. The sisters-in-law, however, secretly vowed 
 that they would not rest till the Sahibs had been put 
 to rout. 
 
 About this time it was rumoured that Nabendu's 
 name would be included in the forthcoming list of
 
 222 " WE CROWN THEE KING " 
 
 Birthday honours, and that he would mount the first 
 step of the ladder to Paradise by becoming a Rai 
 Bahadur. The poor fellow had not the courage to 
 break the joyful news to his sisters-in-law. One 
 evening, however, when the autumn moon was flood- 
 ing the earth with its mischievous beams, Nabendu's 
 heart was so full that he could not contain himself 
 any longer, and he told his wife. The next day, 
 Mrs. Nabendu betook herself to her eldest sister's 
 house in a palanquin, and in a voice choked with 
 tears bewailed her lot. 
 
 " He isn't going to grow a tail," said Labanya, 
 "by becoming a Rai Bahadur, is he? Why should 
 you feel so very humiliated? " 
 
 " Oh, no, sister dear," replied Arunlekha, " I am 
 prepared to be anything but not a Rai-Baha- 
 durwf/' The fact was that in her circle of acquaint- 
 ances there was one Bhutnath Babu, who was a Rai 
 Bahadur, and that explained her intense aversion to 
 that title. 
 
 Labanya said to her sister in soothing tones: 
 " Don't be upset about it, dear; I will see what I can 
 do to prevent it." 
 
 Babu Nilratan, the husband of Labanya, was a 
 pleader at Buxar. When the autumn was over,
 
 "WE CROWN THEE KING" 223 
 
 Nabendu received an invitation from Labanya to pay 
 them a visit, and he started for Buxar greatly 
 pleased. 
 
 The early winter of the western province en- 
 dowed Labanyalekha with new health and beauty, 
 and brought a glowing colour to her pale cheeks. 
 She looked like the flower-laden kasa reeds on a 
 clear autumn day, growing by the lonely bank of a 
 rivulet. To Nabendu's enchanted eyes she ap- 
 peared like a malatl plant in full blossom, showering 
 dew-drops brilliant with the morning light. 
 
 Nabendu had never felt better in his life. The 
 exhilaration of his own health and the genial com- 
 pany of his pretty sister-in-law made him think him- 
 self light enough to tread on air. The Ganges in 
 front of the garden seemed to him to be flowing 
 ceaselessly to regions unknown, as though it gave 
 shape to his own wild fantasies. 
 
 As he returned in the early morning from his 
 walk on the bank of the river, the mellow rays of 
 the winter sun gave his whole frame that pleasing 
 sensation of warmth which lovers feel in each other's 
 arms. Coming home, he would now and then find 
 his sister-in-law amusing herself by cooking some 
 dishes. He would offer his help, and display his
 
 224 " WE CROWN THEE KING " 
 
 want of skill and ignorance at every step. But 
 Nabendu did not appear to be at all anxious to im- 
 prove himself by practice and attention. On the 
 contrary he thoroughly enjoyed the rebukes he re- 
 ceived from his sister-in-law. He was at great 
 pains to prove every day that he was inefficient and 
 helpless as a new-born babe in mixing spices, han- 
 dling the saucepan, and regulating the heat so as to 
 prevent things getting burnt and he was duly re- 
 warded with pitiful smiles a-nd scoldings. 
 
 In the middle of the day he ate a great deal of 
 the good food set before him, incited by his keen 
 appetite and the coaxing of his sister-in-law. Later 
 on, he would sit down to a game of cards at 
 which he betrayed the same lack of ability. He 
 would cheat, pry into his adversary's hand, quarrel 
 but never did he win a single rubber, and worse 
 still, he would not acknowledge defeat. This 
 brought him abuse every day, and still he remained 
 incorrigible. 
 
 There was, however, one matter in which his re- 
 form was complete. For the time at least, he had 
 forgotten that to win the smiles of Sahibs was the 
 final goal of life. He was beginning to understand
 
 \ 
 
 "WE CROWN THEE KING" 225 
 
 how happy and worthy we might feel by winning 
 the affection and esteem of those near and dear to us. 
 
 Besides, Nabendu was now moving in a new at- 
 mosphere. Labanya's husband, Babu Nilratan, a 
 leader of the bar, was reproached by many, because 
 he refused to pay his respects to European officials. 
 To all such reproaches Nilratan would reply: 
 " No, thank you, if they are not polite enough 
 to return my call, then the politeness I offer them is 
 a loss that can never be made up for. The sands 
 of the desert may be very white and shiny, but I 
 would much rather sow my seeds in black soil, where 
 I can expect a return." 
 
 And Nabendu began to adopt similar ideas, all 
 regardless of the future. His chance of Rai Baha- 
 durship throve on the soil carefully prepared by his 
 late father and also by himself in days gone by, nor 
 was any fresh watering required. Had he not at 
 great expense laid out a splendid race-course in 
 a town, which was a fashionable resort of Euro- 
 peans? 
 
 When the time of Congress drew near, Nilratan 
 received a request from head-quarters to collect sub- 
 scriptions. Nabendu, free from anxiety, was mer-
 
 226 "WE CROWN THEE KING" 
 
 rily engaged in a game of cards with his sister-in- 
 law, when Nilratan Babu came upon him with a 
 subscription-book in his hand, and said: "Your 
 signature, please." 
 
 From old habit Nabendu looked horrified. La- 
 banya, assuming an air of great concern and anxiety, 
 said : " Never do that. It would ruin your race- 
 course beyond repair." 
 
 Nabendu blurted out: " Do you suppose I pass 
 sleepless nights through fear of that?" 
 
 " We won't publish your name in the papers," 
 said Nilratan reassuringly. 
 
 Labanya, looking grave and anxious, said: 
 " Still, it wouldn't be safe. Things spread so, from 
 mouth to mouth " 
 
 Nabendu replied with vehemence: "My name 
 wouldn't suffer by appearing in the newspapers." 
 So saying, he snatched the subscription list from 
 Nilratan's hand, and signed away a thousand rupees. 
 Secretly he hoped that the papers would not publish 
 the news. 
 
 Labanya struck her forehead with her palm and 
 gasped out: "What have you done?" 
 
 " Nothing wrong," said Nabendu boastfully. 
 
 " But but ," drawled Labanya, " the Guard-
 
 sahib of Sealdah Station, the shop-assistant at White- 
 away's, the syce-sahib of Hart Bros. these gentle- 
 men might be angry with you, and decline to come to 
 your Poojah dinner to drink your champagne, you 
 know. Just think, they mightn't pat you on the back, 
 when you meet them again ! " 
 
 " It wouldn't break my heart," Nabendu snapped 
 out. 
 
 A few days passed. One morning Nabendu was 
 sipping his tea, and glancing at a newspaper. Sud- 
 denly a letter signed " X " caught his eye. The 
 writer thanked him profusely for his donation, and 
 declared that the increase of strength the Congress 
 had acquired by having such a man within its fold, 
 was inestimable. 
 
 Alas, father Purnendu Sekhar! Was it to in- 
 crease the strength of the Congress, that you brought 
 this wretch into the world ? 
 
 But the cloud of misfortune had its silver lining. 
 That he was not a mere cypher was clear from the 
 fact that the Anglo-Indian community on the one 
 side and the Congress on the other were each wait- 
 ing patiently, eager to hook him, and land him on 
 their own side. So Nabendu, beaming with pleas- 
 ure, took the paper to his sister-in-law, and showed
 
 228 " WE CROWN THEE KING " 
 
 her the letter. Looking as though she knew noth- 
 ing about it, Labanya exclaimed in surprise : " Oh, 
 what a pity! Everything has come out! Who 
 bore you such ill-will? Oh, how cruel of him, how 
 wicked of him! " 
 
 Nabendu laughed out, saying: " Now now 
 don't call him names, Labanya. I forgive him with 
 all my heart, and bless him too." 
 
 A couple of days after this, an anti-Congress An- 
 glo-Indian paper reached Nabendu through the post. 
 There was a letter in it, signed " One who knows," 
 and contradicting the above report. " Those who 
 have the pleasure of Babu Nabendu Sekhar's per- 
 sonal acquaintance," the writer went on, " cannot 
 for a moment believe this absurd libel to be true. 
 For him to turn a Congresswalla is as impossible as 
 it is for the leopard to change his spots. He is a 
 man of genuine worth, and neither a disappointed 
 candidate for Government employ nor a briefless 
 barrister. He is not one of those who, after a brief 
 sojourn in England, return aping our dress and man- 
 ners, audaciously try to thrust themselves on Anglo- 
 Indian society, and finally go back in dejection. So 
 there is absolutely no reason why Babu Nabendu 
 Sekhar," etc., etc.
 
 "WE CROWN THEE KING" 229 
 
 Ah, father Purnendu Sekhar! What a reputa- 
 tion you had made with the Europeans before you 
 died! 
 
 This letter also was paraded before his sister-in- 
 law, for did it not assert that he was no mean, con- 
 temptible scallywag, but a man of real worth? 
 
 Labanya exclaimed again in feigned surprise: 
 " Which of your friends wrote it now? Oh, come 
 is it the Ticket Collector, or the hide merchant, 
 or is it the drum-major of the Fort? " 
 
 " You ought to send in a contradiction, I think," 
 said Nilratan. 
 
 "Is it necessary?" said Nabendu loftily. 
 " Must I contradict every little thing they choose 
 to say against me? " 
 
 Labanya filled the room with a deluge of laugh- 
 ter. Nabendu felt a little disconcerted at this, and 
 said: "Why? What's the matter?" She went 
 on laughing, unable to check herself, and her youth- 
 ful slender form waved to and fro. This torrent of 
 merriment had the effect of overthrowing Nabendu 
 completely, and he said in pitiable accents: "Do 
 you imagine that I am afraid to contradict it? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, no," said Labanya; " I was thinking 
 that you haven't yet ceased trying to save that race-
 
 2 3 o ' WE CROWN THEE KING " 
 
 course of yours, so full of promise. While there is 
 life, there is hope, you know." 
 
 ' That's what I am afraid of, you think, do you? 
 Very well, you shall see," said Nabendu desperately, 
 and forthwith sat down to write his contradiction. 
 When he had finished, Labanya and Nilratan read 
 it through, and said: "It isn't strong enough. 
 We must give it them pretty hot, mustn't we?" 
 And they kindly undertook to revise the composi- 
 tion. Thus it ran: "When one connected to us 
 by ties of blood turns our enemy he becomes far 
 more dangerous than any outsider. To the Gov- 
 ernment of India, the haughty Anglo-Indians are 
 worse enemies than the Russians or the frontier 
 Pathans themselves they are the impenetrable 
 barrier, forever hindering the growth of any bond 
 of friendship between the Government and people 
 of the country. It is the Congress which has opened 
 up the royal road to a better understanding between 
 the rulers and the ruled, and the Anglo-Indian 
 papers have planted themselves like thorns across 
 the whole breadth of that road," etc., etc. 
 
 Nabendu had an inward fear as to the mischief 
 this letter might do, but at the same time he felt 
 elated at the excellence of its composition, which he
 
 "WE CROWN THEE KING" 231 
 
 fondly imagined to be his own. It was duly pub- 
 lished, and for some days comments, replies, and re- 
 joinders went on in various newspapers, and the air 
 was full of trumpet-notes, proclaiming the fact that 
 Nabendu had joined the Congress, and the amount 
 of his subscription. 
 
 Nabendu, now grown desperate, talked as though 
 he was a patriot of the fiercest type. Labanya 
 laughed inwardly, and said to herself: "Well 
 well you have to pass through the ordeal of fire 
 yet." 
 
 One morning when Nabendu, before his bath, had 
 finished rubbing oil over his chest, and was trying 
 various devices to reach the inaccessible portions of 
 his back, the bearer brought in a card inscribed 
 with the name of the District Magistrate himself! 
 Good heavens! What would he do? He could 
 not possibly go, and receive the Magistrate Sahib, 
 thus oil-besmeared. He shook and twitched like a 
 &oz-fish, ready dressed for the frying pan. He fin- 
 ished his bath in a great hurry, tugged on his clothes 
 somehow, and ran breathlessly to the outer apart- 
 ments. The bearer said that the Sahib had just 
 left after waiting for a long time. How much of 
 the blame for concocting this drama of invented in-
 
 232 "WE CROWN THEE KING" 
 
 cidents may be set down to Labanya, and how much 
 to the bearer is a nice problem for ethical mathe- 
 matics to solve. 
 
 Nabendu's heart was convulsed with pain within 
 his breast, like the tail of a lizard just cut off. He 
 moped like an owl all day long. 
 
 Labanya banished all traces of inward merriment 
 from her face, and kept on enquiring in anxious 
 tones: "What has happened to you? You are 
 not ill, I hope?" 
 
 Nabendu made great efforts to smile, and find a 
 humorous reply. " How can there be," he man- 
 aged to say, " any illness within your jurisdiction, 
 since you yourself are the Goddess of Health? " 
 
 But the smile soon flickered out. His thoughts 
 were: "I subscribed to the Congress fund to be- 
 gin with, published a nasty letter in a newspaper, 
 and on the top of that, when the Magistrate Sahib 
 himself did me the honour to call on me, I kept him 
 waiting. I wonder what he is thinking of me." 
 
 Alas, father Purnendu Sekhar, by an irony of Fate 
 I am made to appear what I am not. 
 
 The next morning, Nabendu decked himself in 
 his best clothes, wore his watch and chain, and put a 
 big turban on his head.
 
 ' WE CROWN THEE KING " 233 
 
 : ' Where are you off to?" enquired his sister-in- 
 law. 
 
 " Urgent business," Nabendu replied. Labanya 
 kept quiet. 
 
 Arriving at the Magistrate's gate, he took out his 
 card-case. 
 
 ' You cannot see him now," said the orderly peon 
 icily. 
 
 Nabendu took out a couple of rupees from his 
 pocket. The peon at once salaamed him and said: 
 " There are five of us, sir." Immediately Nabendu 
 pulled out a ten-rupee note, and handed it to him. 
 
 He was sent for by the Magistrate, who was writ- 
 ing in his dressing-gown and bedroom slippers. Na- 
 bendu salaamed him. The Magistrate pointed to a 
 chair with his finger, and without raising his eyes 
 from the paper before him said: " What can I do 
 for you, Babu? " 
 
 Fingering his watch-chain nervously, Nabendu 
 said in shaky tones : " Yesterday you were good 
 enough to call at my place, sir " 
 
 The Sahib knitted his brows, and, lifting just one 
 eye from his paper, said: " I called at your place! 
 Babu, what nonsense are you talking? " 
 
 " Beg your pardon, sir," faltered out Nabendu.
 
 234 " WE CROWN THEE KING " 
 
 " There has been a mistake some confusion," and 
 wet with perspiration, he tumbled out of the room 
 somehow. And that night, as he lay tossing on his 
 bed, a distant dream-like voice came into his ear with 
 a recurring persistency: " Babu, you are a howl- 
 ing idiot." 
 
 On his way home, Nabendu came to the conclu- 
 sion that the Magistrate denied having called, sim- 
 ply because he was highly offended. 
 
 So he explained to Labanya that he had been out 
 purchasing rose-water. No sooner had he uttered 
 the words than half-a-dozen chuprassis wearing the 
 Collectorate badge made their appearance, and after 
 salaaming Nabendu, stood there grinning. 
 
 " Have they come to arrest you because you sub- 
 scribed to the Congress fund?" whispered Labanya 
 with a smile. 
 
 The six peons displayed a dozen rows of teeth 
 and said: "Bakshish Babu-Sahib." 
 
 From a side room Nilratan came out, and said in 
 an irritated manner: "Bakshish? What for? " 
 
 The peons, grinning as before, answered: ' The 
 Babu-Sahib went to see the Magistrate so we have 
 come for bakshish." 
 
 " I didn't know," laughed out Labanya, " that
 
 "WE CROWN THEE KING" 235 
 
 the Magistrate was selling rose-water nowadays. 
 Coolness wasn't the special feature of his trade be- 
 fore." 
 
 Nabendu in trying to reconcile the story of his 
 purchase with his visit to the Magistrate, uttered 
 some incoherent words, which nobody could make 
 sense of. 
 
 Nilratan spoke to the peons : " There has been 
 no occasion for bakshish; you shan't have it." 
 
 Nabendu said, feeling very small: "Oh, they 
 are poor men what's the harm of giving them 
 something?" And he took out a currency note. 
 Nilratan snatched it way from Nabendu's hand, re- 
 marking: ' There are poorer men in the world 
 I will give it to them for you." 
 
 Nabendu felt greatly distressed that he was not 
 able to appease these ghostly retainers of the angry 
 Siva. When the peons were leaving, with thunder 
 in their eyes, he looked at them languishingly, as 
 much as to say: "You know everything, gentle- 
 men, it is not my fault." 
 
 The Congress was to be held at Calcutta this year. 
 Nilratan went down thither with his wife to attend 
 the sittings. Nabendu accompanied them. 
 
 As soon as they arrived at Calcutta, the Congress
 
 236 'WE CROWN THEE KING" 
 
 party surrounded Nabendu, and their delight and 
 enthusiasm knew no bounds. They cheered him, 
 honoured him, and extolled him up to the skies. 
 Everybody said that, unless leading men like Na- 
 bendu devoted themselves to the Cause, there was 
 no hope for the country. Nabendu was disposed to 
 agree with them, and emerged out of the chaos of 
 mistake and confusion as a leader of the country. 
 When he entered the Congress Pavilion on the first 
 day, everybody stood up, and shouted " Hip, hip, 
 hurrah," in a loud outlandish voice, hearing which 
 our Motherland reddened with shame to the root 
 of her ears. 
 
 In due time the Queen's birthday came, and 
 Nabendu's name was not found in the list of Rai 
 Bahadurs. 
 
 He received an invitation from Labanya for that 
 evening. When he arrived there, Labanya with 
 great pomp and ceremony presented him with a robe 
 of honour, and with her own hand put a mark of 
 red sandal paste on the middle of his forehead. 
 Each of the other sisters threw round his neck a 
 garland of flowers woven by herself. Decked in a 
 pink Sari and dazzling jewels, his wife Arunlekha 
 was waiting in a side room, her face lit up with
 
 "WE CROWN THEE KING" 237 
 
 smiles and blushes. Her sisters rushed to her, and, 
 placing another garland in her hand, insisted that 
 she also should come, and do her part in the cere- 
 mony, but she would not listen to it; and that prin- 
 cipal garland, cherishing a desire for Nabendu's 
 neck, waited patiently for the still secrecy of mid- 
 night. 
 
 The sisters said to Nabendu : " To-day we crown 
 thee King. Such honour will not be done to any- 
 body else in Hindoostan." 
 
 Whether Nabendu derived any consolation from 
 this, he alone can tell; but we greatly doubt it. We 
 believe, in fact, that he will become a Rai Bahadur 
 before he has done, and the Englishman and the 
 Pioneer will write heart-rending articles lamenting 
 his demise at the proper time. So, in the meanwhile, 
 Three Cheers for Babu Purnendu Sekhar! Hip, 
 hip, hurrah Hip, hip, hurrah Hip, hip, hurrah.
 
 THE RENUNCIATION
 
 THE RENUNCIATION 
 
 i 
 
 IT was a night of full moon early in the month of 
 Phalgun. The youthful spring was everywhere 
 sending forth its breeze laden with the fragrance of 
 mango-blossoms. The melodious notes of an un- 
 tiring papiya, 1 concealed within the thick foliage of 
 an old lichi tree by the side of a tank, penetrated 
 a sleepless bedroom of the Mukerji family. There 
 Hemanta now restlessly twisted a lock of his wife's 
 hair round his finger, now beat her churi against her 
 wristlet until it tinkled, now pulled at the chaplet of 
 flowers about her head, and left it hanging over her 
 face. His mood was that of an evening breeze 
 which played about a favourite flowering shrub, 
 gently shaking her now this side, now that, in the 
 hope of rousing her to animation. 
 
 But Kusum sat motionless, looking out of the 
 open window, with eyes immersed in the moonlit 
 
 1 One of the sweetest songsters in Bengal. Anglo-Indian writers 
 have nicknamed it the " brain-fever bird," which is a sheer libel. 
 
 241
 
 242 THE RENUNCIATION 
 
 depth of never-ending space beyond. Her hus- 
 band's caresses were lost on her. 
 
 At last Hemanta clasped both the hands of his 
 wife, and, shaking them gently, said: " Kusum, 
 where are you ? A patient search through a big tele- 
 scope would reveal you only as a small speck you 
 seem to have receded so far away. O, do come 
 closer to me, dear. See how beautiful the night 
 is." 
 
 Kusum turned her eyes from the void of space 
 towards her husband, and said slowly: " I know a 
 mantra* which could in one moment shatter this 
 spring night and the moon into pieces." 
 
 " If you do," laughed Hemanta, " pray don't 
 utter it. If any mantra of yours could bring three 
 or four Saturdays during the week, and prolong 
 the nights till 5 P. M. the next day, say it by all 
 means." 
 
 Saying this, he tried to draw his wife a little 
 closer to him. Kusum, freeing herself from the em- 
 brace, said: " Do you know, to-night I feel a long- 
 ing to tell you what I promised to reveal only on my 
 death-bed. To-night I feel that I could endure 
 whatever punishment you might inflict on me." 
 
 1 A set of magic words.
 
 THE RENUNCIATION 243 
 
 Hemanta was on the point of making a jest about 
 punishments by reciting a verse from Jayadeva, 
 when the sound of an angry pair of slippers was 
 heard approaching rapidly. They were the famil- 
 iar footsteps of his father, Harihar Mukerji, and 
 Hemanta, not knowing what it meant, was in a flut- 
 ter of excitement. 
 
 Standing outside the door Harihar roared out: 
 " Hemanta, turn your wife out of the house imme- 
 diately." 
 
 Hemanta looked at his wife, and detected no 
 trace of surprise in her features. She merely buried 
 her face within the palms of her hands, and, with all 
 the strength and intensity of her soul, wished that 
 she could then and there melt into nothingness. It 
 was the same papiya whose song floated into the 
 room with the south breeze, and no one heard it. 
 Endless are the beauties of the earth but alas, 
 how easily everything is twisted out of shape. 
 
 II 
 
 Returning from without, Hemanta asked his wife : 
 "Is it true?" 
 
 " It is," replied Kusum. 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me long ago? "
 
 244 THE RENUNCIATION 
 
 " I did try many a time, and I always failed. I 
 am a wretched woman." 
 
 " Then tell me everything now." 
 
 Kusum gravely told her story in a firm unshaken 
 voice. She waded barefooted through fire, as it 
 were, with slow unflinching steps, and nobody knew 
 how much she was scorched. Having heard her to 
 the end, Hemanta rose and walked out. 
 
 Kusum thought that her husband had gone, never 
 to return to her again. It did not strike her as 
 strange. She took it as naturally as any other inci- 
 dent of everyday life so dry and apathetic had 
 her mind become during the last few moments. 
 Only the world and love seemed to her as a void 
 and make-believe from beginning to end. Even the 
 memory of the protestations of love, which her hus- 
 band had made to her in days past, brought to her 
 lips a dry, hard, joyless smile, like a sharp cruel 
 knife which had cut through her heart. She was 
 thinking, perhaps, that the love which seemed to fill 
 so much of one's life, which brought in its train such 
 fondness and depth of feeling, which made even the 
 briefest separation so exquisitely painful and a mo- 
 ment's union so intensely sweet, which seemed bound- 
 less in its extent and eternal in its duration, the ces-
 
 THE RENUNCIATION 245 
 
 sation of which could not be imagined even in births 
 to come that this was that love ! So feeble was 
 its support! No sooner does the priesthood touch 
 it than your " eternal " love crumbles into a hand- 
 ful of dust ! Only a short while ago Hemanta had 
 whispered to her: "What a beautiful night!" 
 The same night was not yet at an end, the same 
 papiya was still warbling, the same south breeze still 
 blew into the room, making the bed-curtain shiver; 
 the same moonlight lay on the bed next the open 
 window, sleeping like a beautiful heroine exhausted 
 with gaiety. All this was unreal ! Love was more 
 falsely dissembling than she herself ! 
 
 in 
 
 The next morning Hemanta, fagged after a sleep- 
 less night, and looking like one distracted, called at 
 the house of Peari Sankar Ghosal. " What news, 
 my son? " Peari Sankar greeted him. 
 
 Hemanta, flaring up like a big fire, said in a 
 trembling voice: "You have defiled our caste. 
 You have brought destruction upon us. And you 
 will have to pay for it." He could say no more; 
 he felt choked. 
 
 " And you have preserved my caste, prevented
 
 246 THE RENUNCIATION 
 
 my ostracism from the community, and patted me on 
 the back affectionately ! " said Peari Sankar with a 
 slight sarcastic smile. 
 
 Hemanta wished that his Brahmin-fury could re- 
 duce Peari Sankar to ashes in a moment, but his rage 
 burnt only himself. Peari Sankar sat before him 
 unscathed, and in the best of health. 
 
 "Did I ever do you any harm?" demanded 
 Hemanta in a broken voice. 
 
 " Let me ask you one question," said Peari San- 
 kar. " My daughter my only child what 
 harm had she done your father? You were very 
 young then, and probably never heard. Listen, 
 then. Now, don't you excite yourself. There is 
 much humour in what I am going to relate. 
 
 " You were quite small when my son-in-law Na- 
 bakanta ran away to England after stealing my 
 daughter's jewels. You might truly remember the 
 commotion in the village when he returned as a bar- 
 rister five years later. Or, perhaps, you were un- 
 aware of it, as you were at school in Calcutta at the 
 time. Your father, arrogating to himself the head- 
 ship of the community, declared that if I sent my 
 daughter to her husband's home, I must renounce 
 her for good, and never again allow her to cross
 
 THE RENUNCIATION 247 
 
 my threshold. I fell at your father's feet, and im- 
 plored him, saying: ' Brother, save me this once. 
 I will make the boy swallow cow-dung, and go 
 through the pray as chit tarn ceremony. Do take him 
 back into caste.' But your father remained obdu- 
 rate. For my part, I could not disown my only 
 child, and, bidding good-bye to my village and my 
 kinsmen, I betook myself to Calcutta. There, too, 
 my troubles followed me. When I had made every 
 arrangement for my nephew's marriage, your father 
 stirred up the girl's people, and they broke the match 
 off. Then I took a solemn vow that, if there was 
 a drop of Brahmin blood flowing in my veins, I would 
 avenge myself. You understand the business to 
 some extent now, don't you? But wait a little 
 longer. You will enjoy it, when I tell you the whole 
 story; it is interesting. 
 
 " When you were attending college, one Bipradas 
 Chatterji used to live next door to your lodgings. 
 The poor fellow is dead now. In his house lived 
 a child-widow called Kusum, the destitute orphan of 
 a Kayestha gentleman. The girl was very pretty, 
 and the old Brahmin desired to shield her from the 
 hungry gaze of college students. But for a young 
 girl to throw dust in the eyes of her old guardian
 
 248 THE RENUNCIATION 
 
 was not at all a difficult task. She often went to 
 the top of the roof, to hang her washing out to dry, 
 and, I believe, you found your own roof best suited 
 for your studies. Whether you two spoke to each 
 other, when on your respective roofs, I cannot tell, 
 but the girl's behaviour excited suspicion in the old 
 man's mind. She made frequent mistakes in her 
 household duties, and, like Parbati, 1 engaged in her 
 devotions, began gradually to renounce food and 
 sleep. Some evenings she would burst into tears 
 in the presence of the old gentleman, without any 
 apparent reason. 
 
 " At last he discovered that you two saw each 
 other from the roofs pretty frequently, and that 
 you even went the length of absenting yourself 
 from college to sit on the roof at mid-day with a 
 book in your hand, so fond had you grown suddenly 
 of solitary study. Bipradas came to me for advice, 
 and told me everything. ' Uncle,' said I to him, 
 4 for a long while you have cherished a desire to go 
 on a pilgrimage to Benares. You had better do it 
 now, and leave the girl in my charge. I will take 
 care of her.' 
 
 " So he went. I lodged the girl in the house of 
 
 1 The wife of Shiva the Destroyer.
 
 
 THE RENUNCIATION 249 
 
 Sripati Chatterji, passing him off as her father. 
 What happened next is known to you. I feel a great 
 relief to-day, having told you everything from the 
 beginning. It sounds like a romance, doesn't it? I 
 think of turning it into a book, and getting it printed. 
 But I am not a writing-man myself. They say my 
 nephew has some aptitude that way I will get him 
 to write it for me. But the best thing would be, 
 if you would collaborate with him, because the con- 
 clusion of the story is not known to me so well." 
 
 Without paying much attention to the concluding 
 remarks of Pearl Sankar, Hemanta asked: "Did 
 not Kusum object to this marriage?" 
 
 " Well," said Pearl Sankar, " it is very difficult 
 to guess. You know, my boy, how women's minds 
 are constituted. When they say ' no,' they mean 
 ' yes.' During the first few days after her removal 
 to the new home, she went almost crazy at not seeing 
 you. You, too, seemed to have discovered her new 
 address somehow, as you used to lose your way after 
 starting for college, and loiter about in front of 
 Sripati's house. Your eyes did not appear to be 
 exactly in search of the Presidency College, as they 
 were directed towards the barred windows of a pri- 
 vate house, through which nothing but insects and
 
 250 THE RENUNCIATION 
 
 the hearts of moon-struck young men could obtain 
 access. I felt very sorry for you both. I could 
 see that your studies were being seriously inter- 
 rupted, and that the plight of the girl was pitiable 
 also. 
 
 " One day I called Kusum to me, and said: ' Lis- 
 ten to me, my daughter. I am an old man, and you 
 need feel no delicacy in my presence. I know whom 
 you desire at heart. The young man's condition is 
 hopeless too. I wish I could bring about your 
 union.' At this Kusum suddenly melted into tears, 
 and ran away. On several evenings after that, I 
 visited Sripati's house, and, calling Kusum to me, 
 discussed with her matters relating to you, and so 
 I succeeded in gradually overcoming her shyness. 
 At last, when I said that I would try to bring about 
 a marriage, she asked me: 'How can it be?' 
 * Never mind,' I said, ' I would pass you off as a 
 Brahmin maiden.' After a good deal of argument, 
 she begged me to find out whether you would ap- 
 prove of it. ' What nonsense,' replied I, ' the boy 
 is well-nigh mad as it were, what's the use of dis- 
 closing all these complications to him? Let the 
 ceremony be over smoothly and then all's well 
 that ends well. Especially, as there is not the slight-
 
 THE RENUNCIATION 251 
 
 est risk of its ever leaking out, why go out of the 
 way to make a fellow miserable for life? ' 
 
 " I do not know whether the plan had Kusum's 
 assent or not. At times she wept, and at other 
 times she remained silent. If I said, ' Let us drop 
 it then,' she would become very restless. When 
 things were in this state, I sent Sripati to you with 
 the proposal of marriage; you consented without 
 a moment's hesitation. Everything was settled. 
 
 " Shortly before the day fixed, Kusum became so 
 obstinate that I had the greatest difficulty in bring- 
 ing her round again. ' Do let it drop, uncle,' she 
 said to me constantly. ' What do you mean, you 
 silly child,' I rebuked her, ' how can we back out 
 now, when everything has been settled? ' 
 
 " ' Spread a rumour that I am dead,' she im- 
 plored. ' Send me away somewhere.' 
 
 " ' What would happen to the young man then? ' 
 said I. ' He is now in the seventh heaven of de- 
 light, expecting that his long cherished desire would 
 be fulfilled to-morrow; and to-day you want me to 
 send him the news of your death. The result would 
 be that to-morrow I should have to bear the news 
 of his death to you, and the same evening your death 
 would be reported to me. Do you imagine, child,
 
 252 THE RENUNCIATION 
 
 that I am capable of committing a girl-murder and 
 a Brahmin-murder at my age? ' 
 
 " Eventually the happy marriage was celebrated 
 at the auspicious moment, and I felt relieved of a 
 burdensome duty which I owed to myself. What 
 happened afterwards you know best." 
 
 " Couldn't you stop after having done us an ir- 
 reparable injury? " burst out Hemanta after a short 
 silence. " Why have you told the secret now? " 
 
 With the utmost composure, Peari Sankar re- 
 plied: "When I saw that all arrangements had 
 been made for the wedding of your sister, I said 
 to myself: 'Well, I have fouled the caste of one 
 Brahmin, but that was only from a sense of duty. 
 Here, another Brahmin's caste is imperilled, and 
 this time it is my plain duty to prevent it.' So I 
 wrote to them saying that I was in a position to 
 prove that you had taken the daughter of a sudra 
 to wife." 
 
 Controlling himself with a gigantic effort, 
 Hemanta said: "What will become of this girl 
 whom I shall abandon now? Would you give her 
 food and shelter? " 
 
 " I have done what was mine to do," replied
 
 THE RENUNCIATION 253 
 
 Pearl Sankar calmly. " It is no part of my duty 
 to look after the discarded wives of other people. 
 Anybody there? Get a glass of cocoanut milk for 
 Hemanta Babu with ice in it. And some -pan too." 
 Hemanta rose, and took his departure without 
 waiting for this luxurious hospitality. 
 
 IV 
 
 It was the fifth night of the waning of the moon 
 and the night was dark. No birds were singing. 
 The lichi tree by the tank looked like a smudge of 
 ink on a background a shade less deep. The south 
 wind was blindly roaming about in the darkness like 
 a sleep-walker. The stars in the sky with vigilant 
 unblinking eyes were trying to penetrate the dark- 
 ness, in their effort to fathom some profound mys- 
 tery. 
 
 No light shone in the bedroom. Hemanta was 
 sitting on the side of the bed next the open window, 
 gazing at the darkness in front of him. Kusum lay 
 on the floor, clasping her husband's feet with both 
 her arms, and her face resting on them. Time stood 
 like an ocean hushed into stillness. On the back- 
 ground of eternal night, Fate seemed to have
 
 254 THE RENUNCIATION 
 
 painted this one single picture for all time an- 
 nihilation on every side, the judge in the centre of 
 it, and the guilty one at his feet. 
 
 The sound of slippers was heard again. Ap- 
 proaching the door, Harihar Mukerji said: " You 
 have had enough time, I can't allow you more. 
 Turn the girl out of the house." 
 
 Kusum, as she heard this, embraced her husband's 
 feet with all the ardour of a lifetime, covered them 
 with kisses, and touching her forehead to them rev- 
 erentially, withdrew herself. 
 
 Hemanta rose, and walking to the door, said: 
 " Father, I won't forsake my wife." 
 
 " What! " roared out Harihar, " would you lose 
 your caste, sir? " 
 
 " I don't care for caste," was Hemanta's calm 
 reply. 
 
 " Then you too I renounce."
 
 THE CABULIWALLAH 
 (THE FRUITSELLER FROM CABUL)
 
 THE CABULIWALLAH 
 
 MY five years' old daughter Mini cannot live with- 
 out chattering. I really believe that in all her life 
 she has not wasted a minute in silence. Her mother 
 is often vexed at this, and would stop her prattle, 
 but I would not. To see Mini quiet is unnatural, 
 and I cannot bear it long. And so my own talk 
 with her is always lively. 
 
 One morning, for instance, when I was in the 
 midst of the seventeenth chapter of my new novel, 
 my little Mini stole into the room, and putting her 
 hand into mine, said: "Father! Ramdayal the 
 door-keeper calls a crow a krow ! He doesn't know 
 anything, does he? " 
 
 Before I could explain to her the differences of 
 language in this world, she was embarked on the 
 full tide of another subject. "What do you think, 
 Father? Bhola says there is an elephant in the 
 clouds, blowing water out of his trunk, and that is 
 why it rains! " 
 
 And then, darting off anew, while I sat still mak- 
 
 257
 
 2 5 8 THE CABULIWALLAH 
 
 ing ready some reply to this last saying, " Father! 
 what relation is Mother to you? " 
 
 " My dear little sister in the law! " I murmured 
 involuntarily to myself, but with a grave face con- 
 trived to answer: " Go and play with Bhola, Mini ! 
 I am busy! " 
 
 The window of my room overlooks the road. 
 The child had seated herself at my feet near my 
 table, and was playing softly, drumming on her 
 knees. I was hard at work on my seventeenth chap- 
 ter, where Protrap Singh, the hero, had just caught 
 Kanchanlata, the heroine, in his arms, and was about 
 to escape with her by the third story window of the 
 castle, when all of a sudden Mini left her play, and 
 ran to the window, crying, " A Cabuliwallah ! a 
 Cabuliwallah ! " Sure enough in the street below 
 was a Cabuliwallah, passing slowly along. He wore 
 the loose soiled clothing of his people, with a tall 
 turban; there was a bag on his back, and he carried 
 boxes of grapes in his hand. 
 
 I cannot tell what were my daughter's feelings 
 at the sight of this man, but she began to call him 
 loudly. "Ah! " I thought, "he will come in, and 
 my seventeenth chapter will never be finished ! " At 
 which exact moment the Cabuliwallah turned, and
 
 THE CABULIWALLAH 259 
 
 looked up at the child. When she saw this, over- 
 come by terror, she fled to her mother's protection, 
 and disappeared. She had a blind belief that in- 
 side the bag, which the big man carried, there were 
 perhaps two or three other children like herself. 
 The pedlar meanwhile entered my doorway, and 
 greeted me with a smiling face. 
 
 So precarious was the position of my hero and 
 my heroine, that my first impulse was to stop and 
 buy something, since the man had been called. I 
 made some small purchases, and a conversation be- 
 gan about Abdurrahman, the Russians, the Eng- 
 lish, and the Frontier Policy. 
 
 As he was about to leave, he asked: "And 
 where is the little girl, sir? " 
 
 And I, thinking that Mini must get rid of her 
 false fear, had her brought out. 
 
 She stood by my chair, and looked at the 
 Cabuliwallah and his bag. He offered her nuts 
 and raisins, but she would not be tempted, and only 
 clung the closer to me, with all her doubts increased. 
 
 This was their first meeting. 
 
 One morning, however, not many days later, as 
 I was leaving the house, I was startled to find Mini, 
 seated on a bench near the door, laughing and talk-
 
 260 THE CABULIWALLAH 
 
 ing, with the great Cabuliwallah at her feet. In all 
 her life, it appeared, my small daughter had never 
 found so patient a listener, save her father, And 
 already the corner of her little sari was stuffed with 
 almonds and raisins, the gift of her visitor. " Why 
 did you give her those? " I said, and taking out an 
 eight-anna bit, I handed it to him. The man ac- 
 cepted the money without demur, and slipped it into 
 his pocket. 
 
 Alas, on my return an hour later, I found the un- 
 fortunate coin had made twice its own worth of 
 trouble ! For the Cabuliwallah had given it to 
 Mini, and her mother catching sight of the bright 
 round object, had pounced on the child with: 
 " Where did you get that eight-anna bit? " 
 
 " The Cabuliwallah gave it me," said Mini 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " The Cabuliwallah gave it you ! " cried her 
 mother much shocked. " Oh, Mini ! how could you 
 take it from him? " 
 
 I, entering at the moment, saved her from im- 
 pending disaster, and proceeded to make my own 
 inquiries. 
 
 It was not the first or second time, I found, that 
 the two had met. The Cabuliwallah had overcome
 
 THE CABULIWALLAH 261 
 
 the child's first terror by a judicious bribery of nuts 
 and almonds, and the two were now great friends. 
 
 They had many quaint jokes, which afforded them 
 much amusement. Seated in front of him, looking 
 down on his gigantic frame in all her tiny dignity, 
 Mini would ripple her face with laughter, and be- 
 gin: "O Cabuliwallah, Cabuliwallah, what have 
 you got in your bag? " 
 
 And he would reply, in the nasal accents of the 
 mountaineer: "An elephant!" Not much cause 
 for merriment, perhaps; but how they both enjoyed 
 the witticism! And for me, this child's talk with 
 a grown-up man had always in it something strangely 
 fascinating. 
 
 Then the Cabuliwallah, not to be behindhand, 
 would take his turn: "Well, little one, and when 
 are you going to the father-in-law's house? " 
 
 Now most small Bengali maidens have heard long 
 ago about the father-in-law's house; but we, being 
 a little new-fangled, had kept these things from our 
 child, and Mini at this question must have been a 
 trifle bewildered. But she would not show it, and 
 with ready tact replied: " Are you going there? " 
 
 Amongst men of the Cabuliwallah's class, how- 
 ever, it is well known that the words father-in-law's
 
 262 THE CABULIWALLAH 
 
 house have a double meaning. It is a euphemism 
 for jail, the place where we are well cared for, at 
 no expense to ourselves. In this sense would the 
 sturdy pedlar take my daughter's question. " Ah," 
 he would say, shaking his fist at an invisible police- 
 man, " I will thrash my father-in-law! " Hearing 
 this, and picturing the poor discomfited relative, 
 Mini would go off into peals of laughter, in which 
 her formidable friend would join. 
 
 These were autumn mornings, the very time of 
 year when kings of old went forth to conquest; and 
 I, never stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, 
 would let my mind wander over the whole world. 
 At the very name of another country, my heart would 
 go out to it, and at the sight of a foreigner in the 
 streets, I would fall to weaving a network of dreams, 
 the mountains, the glens, and the forests of his 
 distant home, with his cottage- in its setting, and the 
 free and independent life of far-away wilds. Per- 
 haps the scenes of travel conjure themselves up be- 
 fore me, and pass and repass in my imagination all 
 the more vividly, because I lead such a vegetable ex- 
 istence, that a call to travel would fall upon me like a 
 thunderbolt. In the presence of this Cabuliwallah, 
 I was immediately transported to the foot of arid
 
 THE CABULIWALLAH 263 
 
 mountain peaks, with narrow little defiles twisting 
 in and out amongst their towering heights. I could 
 see the string of camels bearing the merchandise, 
 and the company of turbaned merchants, carrying 
 some of their queer old firearms, and some of their 
 spears, journeying downward towards the plains. 
 I could see but at some such point Mini's mother 
 would intervene, imploring me to- " beware of that 
 
 man." 
 
 Mini's mother is unfortunately a very timid lady. 
 Whenever she hears a noise in the street, or sees 
 people coming towards the house, she always jumps 
 to the conclusion that they are either thieves, or 
 drunkards, or snakes, or tigers, or malaria or cock- 
 roaches, or caterpillars, or an English sailor. Even 
 after all these years of experience, she is not able 
 to overcome her terror. So she was full of doubts 
 about the Cabuliwallah, and used to beg me to keep 
 a watchful eye on him. 
 
 I tried to laugh her fear gently away, but then 
 she would turn round on me seriously, and ask me 
 solemn questions. 
 
 Were children never kidnapped? 
 
 Was it, then, not true that there was slavery in 
 Cabul?
 
 264 THE CABULIWALLAH 
 
 Was it so very absurd that this big man should 
 be able to carry off a tiny child? 
 
 I urged that, though not impossible, it was highly 
 improbable. But this was not enough, and her 
 dread persisted. As it was indefinite, however, it 
 did not seem right to forbid the man the house, and 
 the intimacy went on unchecked. 
 
 Once a year in the middle of January Rahmun, 
 the Cabuliwallah, was in the habit of returning to 
 his country, and as the time approached he would 
 be very busy, going from house to house collecting 
 his debts. This year, however, he could always find 
 time to come and see Mini. It would have seemed 
 to an outsider that there was some conspiracy be- 
 tween the two, for when he could not come in the 
 morning, he would appear in the evening. 
 
 Even to me it was a little startling now and then, 
 in the corner of a dark room, suddenly to surprise 
 this tall, loose-garmented, much bebagged man; but 
 when Mini would run in smiling, with her, " 1 
 Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah!" and the two 
 friends, so far apart in age, would subside into their 
 old laughter" and their old jokes, I felt reassured. 
 
 One morning, a few days before he had made 
 up his mind to go, I was correcting my proof sheets
 
 THE CABULIWALLAH 265 
 
 in my study. It was chilly weather. Through the 
 window the rays of the sun touched my feet, and the 
 slight warmth was very welcome. It was almost 
 eight o'clock, and the early pedestrians were return- 
 ing home, with their heads covered. All at once, 
 I heard an uproar in the street, and, looking out, 
 saw Rahmun being led away bound between two 
 policemen, and behind them a crowd of curious boys. 
 There were blood-stains on the clothes of the 
 Cabuliwallah, and one of the policemen carried a 
 knife. Hurrying out, I stopped them, and enquired 
 what it all meant. Partly from one, partly from 
 another, I gathered that a certain neighbour had 
 owed the pedlar something for a Rampuri shawl, 
 but had falsely denied having bought it, and that in 
 the course of the quarrel, Rahmun had struck him. 
 Now in the heat of his excitement, the prisoner be- 
 gan calling his enemy all sorts of names, when sud- 
 denly in a verandah of my house appeared my little 
 Mini, with her usual exclamation: "O Cabuliwal- 
 lah! Cabuliwallah! " Rahmun's face lighted up 
 as he turned to her. He had no bag under his arm 
 to-day, so she could not discuss the elephant with 
 him. She at once therefore proceeded to the next 
 question: "Are you going to the father-in-law's
 
 266 THE CABULIWALLAH 
 
 house?" Rahmun laughed and said: 'Just 
 where I am going, little one ! " Then seeing that 
 the reply did not amuse the child, he held up his fet- 
 tered hands. " Ah," he said, " I would have 
 thrashed that old father-in-law, but my hands are 
 bound!" 
 
 On a charge of murderous assault, Rahmun was 
 sentenced to some years' imprisonment. 
 
 Time passed away, and he was not remembered. 
 The accustomed work in the accustome.d place was 
 ours, and the thought of the cmce-free mountaineer 
 spending his years in prison seldom or never occurred 
 to us. Even my light-hearted Mini, I am ashamed 
 to say, forgot her old friend. New companions 
 filled her life. As she grew older, she spent more 
 of her time with girls. So much time indeed did she 
 spend with them that she came no more, as she used 
 to do, to her father's room. I was scarcely on speak- 
 ing terms with her. 
 
 Years had passed away. It was once more 
 autumn and we had made arrangements for our 
 Mini's marriage. It was to take place during the 
 Puja Holidays. With Durga returning to Kailas, 
 the light of our home also was to depart to her
 
 THE CABULIWALLAH 267 
 
 husband's house, and leave her father's in the 
 shadow. 
 
 The morning was bright. After the rains, there 
 was a sense of ablution in the air, and the sun-rays 
 looked like pure gold. So bright were they that 
 they gave a beautiful radiance even to the sordid 
 brick walls of our Calcutta lanes. Since early dawn 
 to-day the wedding-pipes had been sounding, and at 
 each beat my own heart throbbed. The wail of the 
 tune, Bhairavi, seemed to intensify my pain at the 
 approaching separation. My Mini was to be mar- 
 ried to-night. 
 
 From early morning noise and bustle had per- 
 vaded the house. In the courtyard the canopy had 
 to be slung on its bamboo poles ; the chandeliers with 
 their tinkling sound must be hung in each room and 
 verandah. There was no end of hurry and excite- 
 ment. I was sitting in my study, looking through 
 the accounts, when some one entered, saluting re- 
 spectfully, and stood before me. It was Rahmun 
 the Cabuliwallah. At first I did not recognise him. 
 He had no bag, nor the long hair, nor the same vig- 
 our that he used to have. But he smiled, and I 
 knew him again.
 
 268 THE CABULIWALLAH 
 
 "When did you come, Rahmun?" I asked 
 him. 
 
 " Last evening," he said, " I was released from 
 jail." 
 
 The words struck harsh upon my ears. I had 
 never before talked with one who had wounded his 
 fellow, and my heart shrank within itself, when I 
 realised this, for I felt that the day would have been 
 better-omened had he not turned up. 
 
 " There are ceremonies going on," I said, " and 
 I am busy. Could you perhaps come another day? " 
 
 At once he turned to go ; but as he reached the 
 door he hesitated, and said: " May I not see the 
 little one, sir, for a moment?" It was his belief 
 that Mini was still the same. He had pictured her 
 running to him as she used, calling " O Cabuliwallah ! 
 Cabuliwallah ! " He had imagined too that they 
 would laugh and talk together, just as of old. In 
 fact, in memory of former days he had brought, 
 carefully wrapped up in paper, a few almonds and 
 raisins and grapes, obtained somehow from a coun- 
 tryman, for his own little fund was dispersed. 
 
 I said again : " There is a ceremony in the house, 
 and you will not be able to see any one to-day." 
 
 The man's face fell. He looked wistfully at me
 
 THE CABULIWALLAH 269 
 
 for a moment, said " Good morning," and went out. 
 
 I felt a little sorry, and would have called him 
 back, but I found he was returning of his own ac- 
 cord. He came close up to me holding out his of- 
 ferings and said: " I brought these few things, sir, 
 for the little one. Will you give them to her? " 
 
 I took them and was going to pay him, but he 
 caught my hand and said: "You are very kind, 
 sir ! Keep me in your recollection. Do not offer 
 me money ! You have a little girl, I too have one 
 like her in my own home. I think of her, and bring 
 fruits to your child, not to make a profit for my- 
 self." 
 
 Saying this, he put his hand inside his big loose 
 robe, and brought out a small and dirty piece of 
 paper. With great care he unfolded this, and 
 smoothed it out with both hands on my table. It 
 bore the impression of a little hand. Not a photo- 
 graph. Not a drawing. The impression of an ink- 
 smeared hand laid flat on the paper. This touch 
 of his own little daughter had been always on his 
 heart, as he had come year after year to Calcutta, 
 to sell his wares in the streets. 
 
 Tears came to my eyes. I forgot that he was 
 a poor Cabuli fruit-seller, while I was but no,
 
 2 70 THE CABULI WALLAH 
 
 what was I more than he? He also was a father. 
 
 That impression of the hand of his little Pdrbati 
 in her distant mountain home reminded me of my 
 own little Mini. 
 
 I sent for Mini immediately from the inner apart- 
 ment. Many difficulties were raised, but I would 
 not listen. Clad in the red silk of her wedding-day, 
 with the sandal paste on her forehead, and adorned 
 as a young bride, Mini came, and stood bashfully 
 before me. 
 
 The Cabuliwallah looked a little staggered at the 
 apparition. He could not revive their old friend- 
 ship. At last he smiled and said: "Little one, 
 are you going to your father-in-law's house?" 
 
 But Mini now understood the meaning of the 
 word " father-in-law," and she could not reply to 
 him as of old. She flushed up at the question, and 
 stood before him with her bride-like face turned 
 down. 
 
 I remembered the day when the Cabuliwallah and 
 my Mini had first met, and I felt sad. When she 
 had gone, Rahmun heaved a deep sigh, and sat down 
 on the floor. The idea had suddenly come to him 
 that his daughter too must have grown in this long 
 time, and that he would have to make friends with
 
 THE CABULIWALLAH 271 
 
 her anew. Assuredly he would not find her, as he 
 used to know her. And besides, what might not 
 have happened to her in these eight years? 
 
 The marriage-pipes sounded, and the mild autumn 
 sun streamed round us. But Rahmun sat in the little 
 Calcutta lane, and saw before him the barren moun- 
 tains of Afghanistan. 
 
 I took out a bank-note, and gave it to him, say- 
 ing: " Go back to your own daughter, Rahmun, 
 in your own country, and may the happiness of your 
 meeting bring good fortune to my child! " 
 
 Having made this present, I had to curtail some 
 of the festivities. I could not have the electric 
 lights I had intended, nor the military band, and the 
 ladies of the house were despondent at it. But to 
 me the wedding feast was all the brighter for the 
 thought that in a distant land a long-lost father met 
 again with his only child. 
 
 THE END 
 
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